Moles, voles, & holes

Monday 2:45 pm,
we are nearly at ice out. I walk clockwise
along the edge of the pond to the first wooded area. In the shadows, ice still comes down the
slope into the water. A bit further on,
a small ice float is caught in the dead cedars. It’s not out yet. Bu joins me at
ponds edge for a cold drink, rites of spring. I’d love to, the thought of all the critters that live at the pond, Beaver
Fever.. I hold back.

We move up the hill to the rock garden. I rake as best I can.  Moles, voles and holes… trails criss cross
everywhere I work. My garden was
fashioned on this steep ledge by digging small holes wherever I could find a soft
spot in the rocks. I let the grass stay
put around the planted areas to hold the soil from washing down into the pond, a
terrible mistake I found out as the years have gone by. The grass haunts me, haunts the garden. True gardeners would never call this
haphazard affair a ‘real garden’. Mine
are like the rest of my world, like my stash.. they bloom in happy disarray. It will this year also, unless garden elves
come to transplant, weed, and put things in order.

I’m off to clean out the raspberry patch… nearly 100 ft. of
thorny stems. It’s sunny and dry enough
to sit in the field, so this is it.