It’s late April and hills across the valley are dusted white as if with confectioners sugar. I spend the morning in the woman cave dabbling with this and that and not thinking about gardening at all. Odd for this time of year.
By late afternoon the sun is shining, and the white is gone, but it’s cool enough to justify curling up under a blanket and watching an episode of MasterChef while Gerry watches hockey in the other room and dinner cooks in the oven.
It’s been a discombobulated month and I’ll be glad to see it go. It’s worse in other parts of the country; I shouldn’t complain. Surely, with May will come spring. Surely then, gardening fever will take hold.