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Here's some humor from the Bronx, where a flock of wild chickens are thriving.

I feel oddly as though my yard is stuck in the past. Winter-past. February-past. While I have numerous bulbs shooting up healthy green, I have no buds, no blossoms, no yellows and whites and golds. My hope is that they're being rebelliously late; my fear is that they're over-crowded, under-fed, and under-sunned...but all of them? Even the ones I transplanted? Am I to start the season off with catastrophe already? (I realize that "catastrophe" is rather strong diction for such an event. If there is to be failure, let it be in over-crowded bulbs rather than anything else.)

Another part of the problem is that I'm not sure what's what; my first spring in this home means delightful mystery. Perhaps, I have no daffodils. Perhaps, they are all blue-bells, tulips, and irises, later-season bloomers. But some of those green shoots look a lot like daffodils, I must say. We will see. There's hope yet.

Plus, while Portland garlands herself in cherry blossoms, my cherry tree stands naked, with buds fattening but not blooming. I am curious. How does this reflect age, size, and variety? I will have to take note of when she blooms, colors of blossoms, and the color and taste of the cherries in order to identify why this one is a late bloomer.

Meanwhile, I have decided to wait no longer! This mild weather forbids it; time to plant cold weather crops, such as lettuce, spinach, arugula, kale, and peas and I'll use the cloche at night. I'm also taking a top-bar bee keeping class at Pistils this Saturday if I can find the cash for it. Perhaps we'll even get the hive built if the class so inspires.