Non-compost-mentis

So here’s the question for the day, people: can I turn a compost tumbler that’s a great fit for someone who’s almost two feet taller than I am? Let me explain.

Just yesterday afternoon I closed a deal with Chris of Backyard Gardening Blog to review what he modestly calls the World's Greatest Organic Compost Tumbler. Now, my first reaction to most offers is to say no, absolutely not, but, well, Chris made me an offer I couldn’t refuse: he’d give me a tumbler in exchange for an honest review, a promise not to sue him if it turns out that I can’t rotate the thing, and my next child. This decision required careful consideration, but after about three seconds I went with the tumbler. (Please don’t tell him I’m 55 and past all that childbearing business.)

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BGMD In Praise of Seasons

   Pink and white carnations—one desires
    So much more than that.

            Wallace Stevens
            “The Poems of Our Climate”

        I.
Moving back
to Minnesota? say friends
in L.A., in New York.
They try not to sound rude,
but they fail;
their voices soar and drop
like ill-flown kites in spotty wind.
They think we are out of our minds.

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Spring birds

Robin in flight

Despite the snow, the robins returned, en masse. I have never seen them in such numbers. When I drove down the alley behind my house, five, ten, a dozen would lift off from the puddles left by melting snow. Nor had I known until then that they ate juniper berries.

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This is the lounge where Kate lay

Contest categories are listed as pages in the right sidebar.

Yesterday was warm and so dry that by the time you finished hanging
clothes at one end of a clothes line, you could start taking them down
at the other end. I know, because I hung out the first laundry on the
line that Steve had put up that morning.

Today, we get this:

Chaise longue in snow

which has inspired this:

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Belated birthday post

I just discovered that I never posted this. Oops. Got caught up in the contest stuff. Post your entries on the Pages in the right sidebar.

My birthday on Sunday was all one could wish for, thanks in part to all the good wishes from blogging buddies near and far. Thank you.

Now that I am one year older, I expect all of you to treat me with the respect due my advanced years. Respect, do you hear? QUIET DOWN AND—oh, never mind.

The day started around noon (as all should, in the opinion of this dedicated sleeper-inner) with waffles and all the trimmings: fresh strawberries, toasted pecans, whipped cream, and of course maple syrup. My parents most courteously waited until we were done before calling to sing Happy Birthday in harmony.

It takes a while to recover from a meal like that, but when I could breath again, I put in three hours in the greenhouse, where I’m trying to finish last autumn’s interrupted preparation of planting beds. All that heavy digging was perfect for clearing my arteries, which I knew were due for another cholesterol-ladden assault that evening.

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