More hyacinths have pushed through the ground, the pear trees are beginning to bloom and Gus, one of our horse guests, is losing his thick winter coat.  Late this morning and later in the afternoon, having gotten a windfall of time, I weeded, I got my roses ready for spring, gave them an extra boost to resist aphids and black spot.  I carried a wheel-barrow full of weeds out to the burn pile and filled a large bag with chicken poop and horse manure, fertilizer a friend has asked for.  Already, I have taken some of that same fertilizer, along with the compost I got from the bottom of our compost bin, to fold into the soil where we will have our vegetable and herb garden.

Today, the Spouseman and I got a cubic yard of mulch in Prattville; my job when we got home was to offload it from the back of Sherod’s truck.  At one point, standing in the truck bed, shovel in hand, while the sweat ran down my back. I looked out and saw the garden stretch far in front of me–the furrows Sherod has already plowed, the crimson clover ground cover we will plow under that has enriched the soil during the winter season, all the things that will require lots from us both as spring gains a foothold and then summer does too.  I took it all in and remembered strength.  My body remembered what it is like to be strong and what it takes.  I made myself go a few extra steps, do one more task, get more on the shovel to heave over the truck, just to open spaces beyond remembrance.  Because being strong not just of mind and spirit, but of body as well is, quite simply, magnificent.