Spring. Or something.

Ok, Ok, I give up. It really is spring, even though it's a month early. Though we are reveling in the beautiful weather, we are apprehensive about what this means about changing condiditions over the long haul.

However, here are our local signs of spring: Come home, all doors open, tax papers almost all put away, cat lying outside on patio, candytuft, phlox, quince, and Tom's little lettuces all madly green.

Last week Tom organized the Big Koi Pond Cleanout, so pump and fountain now burbling once more. Kabir brought yet another 17 yards of concrete, so we all helped--at least a little--with screeding and smoothing area around the shed.

First shed potluck of the year.

This weekend, I'm on call, but still: a dozen cars here for hops pole raising, Rachel teaching park kids about opossums, and a couple of Canadians overnighting here on their way to a midwife conference at The Farm. Ina Gaskin is still going strong!

The great Henry Isaacs has a show opening and is coming out to the farm to paint today. If I can get home in time. (Look him up.) Fortunately, my knee, which blew up in sudden agony on Friday--my intern pushed me around in a wheelchair on rounds, much to my embarrassment--has been aspirated and injected and I am now almost back to normal.

So. Rounds. Art. Hops. Iris. Spring.