Last Tuesday it was beautiful. I drafted my child labor force and went out to the back yard, which had literally received no attention at all last year. We cleaned out last years dead stalks, raked up fallen leaves, collected sand box toys and threw out broken sand box toys. I dug under the corner of the butterfly garden that had gone to weeds. I transplanted the purple coneflowers and and the sedum autumn joy and some of the daylilies into the corner and around the border of the garden. The island bed that they had occupied became the new strawberry patch, and we dug up the strawberry plants and moved them there. We made a neat stepping stone path between the two. Where the strawberry patch was, we pulled out the sundial markers and turned over the soil. We scattered grass seed and laid some of the dead stalks and grasses over the seed to keep the birds away. It rained nicely on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. By yesterday, it hadn't rained in a couple of days, and I wanted the seeds to do well, so I dragged the hose out of the garage, hooked it up, soaked my feet, and gently watered the area. This is day 9. Still no signs of new grass. Now, in my defense, I have no idea how old the grass seed was, but still, I'd think *some* of it would sprout.
Why do plants hate me, when I love them so much? well, ok, I neglect them pitifully in August, but I love them in the spring time. By August I'm jaded. And yet every spring, I'm full of hope.
Monday night at dinner, I put three green beans on Sweetling's plate. She asked why I did that when I know she doesn't like green beans. I told her I was an eternal optimist. We had a brief discussion about what that phrase meant. The Jedi piped in with that I expect the best possible, regardless of whether or not it lined up at all with reality. Under his breath he muttered that it was a wonder I didn't vote as a liberal.