Scott and I have managed to fit a significant amount of outdoor work around our other labours during these past two weeks. Today I cut the first five daffodils of the season to bring inside and sit in a mason jar on the kitchen table. No fear; plenty more where that came from!

On Monday morning, while I was doing my quiet time, snow flurries were falling outside, but by this afternoon, almost all the daffodils on the southeast terraces were open--the big classic yellow ones, which are always first, as well as the flatter white ones with pale yellow centres. The crocuses are on the wane, and the snowdrops, which I love (like tiny origami cranes suspended on the most delicate threadlike stems), have disintegrated into brown fuzz under the dogwood.

Also this week our new shipment of roses arrived. We have fifteen roses planted on the south side of the house now. We have three Munstead Wood, a deep maroon; three Glamis Castle, which are white; three Queen of Sweden, which are enormous and palest pink; three Graham Thomas, which are yellow, and wiry climbers; and three Lady of Shalott, which are also supposed to be enormous, and are a rich coppery-orange colour.

Under the early spring sun, the vegetable garden beds look so barren, so desolate, so vulnerable. The sun feels gracious to my skin but harsh on the naked dirt as it beats through the leafless hackberry, and I wonder if we’ll have any success in the end. Today, though, I saw the first tiny lettuce sprouts in the corner bed under the redbud. Appropriately enough, Scott and I managed to rig the deer fencing today, which will hopefully protect our plants from herbivores.