Wake up little rosebud

Time to get things moving again. That’s what the snow geese tell us. They are still making their way north. Traffic overhead for hours each day.

George hired a tree mover to take care of a few evergreens that would be better situated elsewhere. The knob was a little crowded in spots, so two of the trees we planted some ten or eleven years ago were sent up to screen the balehouse from view. Another two, too close to fences and walks, were transported to the front slope down to the pond. Apparently beaver don’t appreciate pine, and we need to replace the poplar they are mowing down at an alarming rate. Now we have to keep these things alive. No sign of rain yet, so the hoses are running constantly.

The rose book instructs to uncover the shrubs when the local tree buds swell, but before they open into leaves. That’s right now. The roses on the knob look a little sleepy, but a couple from the front garden had already leafed out while under their covers and look ready hit the ground running  . Much relief that I did not discover any ‘presents’ from Mulder’s caching habit. The year I pulled out the turkey foot, looking too much like a human hand, is still fresh in my memory.

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