It's been a bit wet. I wish I could send this to parched Cape Town and environs, suffering from serious drought. Here in Brooklyn, in the central vegetable plot, the soil drains better than it did this time last year - I think the green manure (digging plants back into the soil) helped. The chives on the left are fat and happy.
The garlic seems to be strong. Tulip rows are coming up, so the squirrels didn't get them all. The purple potatoes that I thought had frozen to mush after our balmy February seem to be intact.
When we moved in here in late 2015 there were only weeds in the middle bed. Many, many weeds. On the outsides edges there were some irises (a beautiful purple), day lilies (which I divided), Solomon's seal (a plant I love, also divided), violets, and a sprawling spirea (I took it out). Now, the bulbs I planted - muscari, fritillaria, daffodils, alliums, tulips, lily of the valley (for the Frenchman, whose town in Provence used to hold a festival for them), lilies, liatris, camassia, eremurus and even dahlias - as well perennials - columbines, foamflower (it has moved with us twice), foxgloves, thimbleweed, ostrich fern, heuchera, milkweeds, asters, agastache, salvia, monkshood - are beginning to wake up.
The Unattractive Path flooded. If I do cover it in river gravel, the gravel will get muddy. Dilemma.
There is life in the pots, even if two of them cracked. The purple elderflower above might even bloom this year.
And I am the proud mother of a clutch of fiddleheads. I have a small flock of ostrich ferns, now, and when the fatter fiddleheads develop we'll have a small ceremonial dish of them with dinner.