you’re not very good at this I stoop over trays of purple kisses, Dianthus, Aster. I dig the tulip bulbs out from the garden bed, excavating them from perlite and caked peat. The bulbs are deeper than I expected, clustered and slimy. I toss them in the wheelbarrow and weed as I go. The mugwort roots
stick house A stick house appears when the snow melts. The kids gather downed branches and balance them in shrubs. They have only recess to build, then the structures left behind by one group become raw material for the next. A fort meticulously assembled by first graders is dismantled by the third
second tying The forecast called for thunderstorms overnight. The thermometer held in the nineties. I got into the field to hammer tomato stakes, under that mid-afternoon light, the hour of sharp shadows. To drive in the stakes we use a pneumatic needle scaler. It runs off a compressor, and instead of
