The Predicted Blizzard Arrived

It happens every year. In spring, just as the daffodils are fading and the tulips are nodding toward the sun, the pink blizzard arrives. It was forecast. We knew it would come. It did not disappoint us.
This year has seen particularly deep drifts among the flower beds with accumulations of up to an inch on the sidewalk. The grass is almost covered, and like the winter white stuff, we track it into the house on our shoes. Every morning we clear the walk and by evening it has drifted over. We stamp our feet and drag our shoes across the door mat trying to dislodge the sticky bits, then give up and just walk in leaving tiny pink puddles behind.


Now there's another forecast: high winds and turbulence. That would be the vacuum cleaner picking up those bits of pink. We don't mind at all.

Pink Snow In the Forecast

Outside our front door is a tree that turns fluffy pink each spring. I believe it's a Kwanzan Cherry, but its name doesn't matter. Pink blossoms like mini-roses form a canopy over our miniscule front yard, branches reaching high against Phil's office windows, and low arching into the still bare branches of its neighboring bush.


Standing at the front door and looking out is one of the pleasures of the morning, to see the sun streaming through pink clouds. We rarely trim it back, preferring to let the tree spread protectively even though that means our tiny front yard is not grass covered. It's a fine trade-off for the shade it provides against summer's heat.


Soon the clouds will break and snow down on the ground, covering it with little pink petals. A couple of years ago a toddler came by during this snow and began lifting chubby handfuls and tossing them over his head. Giggling happily, he did it again and again.

Isn't it nice that one tree can give such pleasure?

Rockin' Robin

Birds flutter nearby for my viewing pleasure most of the day - I plan it that way. My desk sits right in front of a window that is at ground level and below our mini-deck. A bird feeder hangs out from the deck rail above and draws feathered visitors to entertain our indoor cats. When I fill the feeder I make sure that a fair amount of seed falls to the ground below, thereby assuring me of an equal amount of entertainment from the area doves, cardinals, and squirrels. Nope, no exotic types here...and the hummingbirds are still a good month away.

But we have robins again. Boy, do we have robins! And now I think we will have more robins.

A little while ago I noticed unusual fluttering under the deck. Long strings of what looked liked dried grass dangled from the cross beam, waving in the wet breeze of a rainy morning. Another flutter and the architect arrived with more of the same. I'm going to call it "she" because I can't tell the difference (yet.) She added the new materials to the small collection already there. Three or four times she pulled up the dangling ends and poked them toward the center of her creation. Then she did a little dance, wings about half unfurled, and side-stepping across the nest-to-be. More pulling and poking, then more dancing. Apparently satisfied she flew off, only to return a few minutes later and repeat her ritual. (No, that's not her in the photo - my shots are all too dim.)

I'm sure an ornithologist could tell me what's going on in proper scientific terms. But I just like to think of her as our Rockin' Robin.

Crocuses (Croci?) and Daffodils

Crocuses are running riot out front on a spring-fever day. Temperatures in the upper 60's, sunshine, and windows open to air out the winter-stuffy house. Yes!

Laptop with Photoshop on it is in for repair so there's no way to get the photos I took from the camera to my blog. Phooey! Remembering the sight brightens my mind. For you, some not-from-my-garden shots that capture the feeling.
No matter what Punsxatawney Phil said, my springtime is here. Robins are holding convocations in the backyard and squirrels are chasing each other up and down trees. Maybe it's wishful looking, but I swear the trees out back are starting to blush. For sure I heard a woodpecker this morning. We're going to make it.

Back in your hole Mr. P. Phil - my season is here!