The ground was probably too wet to till the garden, but we did because it was  time to plant peas.

And this is the first Spring we have experienced on this land, and the pond near the house — beyond the huge pines — has a growing chorus of Spring peepers (frogs), talking and chirruping and making their vernal music. And the Sandhill Cranes keep flying over, forming wobbly V’s across the blue and gray skies, heading north. The sound of the cranes is music, too.

Spring continues to oscillate between warm and cold temps, between hints of summer and reminders of the winter. This week it’s going to be cold, and we keep burning wood in the woodstove.

But we have the tiller out.