I couldn't figure out why Belle the Weiner Dog was cowering when I tried to let her out this morning, then I looked at the scene from her point of view. The right side of the doorway was framed in stickers from the tumbleweeds that overnight have lodged 5 feet high on the porch. She probably thought she was being sent to do her business in a briar patch.
The wind has begun its annual blow here.
When I was a little girl, I had romantic notions of Spring, where April showers really did bring May flowers. Now, I live where Spring means being excited at the prospect of gardening, then being beaten down by the wind and grit. Where my bright-eyed enthusiasm gives way to wondering how important it really is for the wee plants to get a good start in rich, fertile soil. Because, at the very time when I should be working all that life-giving manure I've been talking about lately into the ground in preparation for planting next month, the wind kicks up and doesn't stop blowing until roughly June.
I guess I'll have to borrow Mike's protective eye gear, put a scarf over my hair ...and mouth... and wait till he's at work to undertake the task of spreading the poo. Because I'm not sure our marriage can survive him witnessing this scene twice.
Love from the farm,