Dear March, Come In!

        As always, I look ahead at upcoming days, for the weather. I just like a rare glimpse of average temps, that may be altering my mood.
       The weekend was agreeable.Nippy breeze, and if ever still, the sun would warm you.
       My family in Boston had another story, a storm rained supreme on their shores, so worry, I did.
It was a mixed bag, which I believe is what the Lion and the Lamb represent.
       Dear March, Come In! as Emily Dickinson wrote so many years ago.
                          Dear March, come in!
                          How glad I am!
                          I looked for you before.
                          Put down your hat-
                          You must have walked-
                           How out of breath you are!
                           Dear March, how are you?
                           And the rest?
                           Did you leave Nature well?
                           Oh March, come right upstairs with me,
                            I have much to tell!

                           I got your letter, and the birds;
                           The maples never knew
                           That you were coming,-I declare,
                           How red their faces grew!
                           But, March, forgive me-
                           And all those hills
                           You left for me to hue;
                           There was no purple suitable,
                           You took it all with you.

                           Who knocks? That April
                            Lock the door!
                            I will not be pursued!
                            He stayed away a year, to call
                            When I am occupied.
                            But trifles look so trivial
                            As soon as you have come,
                            The blame is just as dear as praise
                            And praise as mere as blame.

I love this poem, and several that I googled, looking up poems, for March.
Charles Dickens has a great one, Walt Whitman another.They pointed me to yardwork!!
        While talking to my mother this weekend, she was March depressed, because she could no longer get in her yard, and tend to her flowers. I told her she was feeling the gloom of gray days, earlier in the week, and to hire people. She has a hard time, with that concept. I understand, that was one of her biggest pleasures, to take care of the inside and outside of her house. When it is a little warmer, and not so windy, she will be able to point and direct people a little better about what to do.
She needs a person who takes directions, and understands her love of her yard. There is really little left to do, a patch of grass, weeds in her rock gardens, that are to hard to tangle with. I think the rock gardens, need to be redone, or done away. I don't know. A couple of potted plants that she could water and keep high so she would not have to bend over. She got rid of most of her bird feeders, because she could not fill them anymore!! That is what happens with age, but these also are things that make her happy. My lawn person, Mr. Hernandez, would fill my feeders for me. He is like family, and knows what I need to have done. You see Hubs and I are inching toward, not being able to do all the yard work also. ( OK, we only plant a few things each summer, I have planted enough perennials to fill my gardens) ( we have lived here 28 years, my yard is seasoned!! and mature)
   I decided to pull some weeds yesterday, and asked the beloved to help. We covered about the size of a shoebox!! Bill wants to spray poison, and I want them pulled up, so we bicker and yank. I hold up the flowers, ( the organic chemist does not know plants) ( he says he is not a biologist) ( whatever, a lambs ear looks like a lambs ear!!!, you don't need Princeton for that!) so this is a long process. Then my Mr. Hernandez can put down the pine straw, after I get my beds ready. I lay out a color plan, for annuals, and prune all my dead stuff around. ( again bill would cut it all down to the ground!!) I have little homes for my rabbits and chipmunks to live and eat the plants in their area, and the plants the deer like, I plant inside the fence. Its a whole process of love, I understand how my mother misses it.
    Plus you know March is a big tease,. Beautiful weekend, next weekend lows in the thirties!! She holds me hostage, I want to plant. I get that from you mom. So you Mary B. ( that is my momma)
   just have some pots, take the rock garden and fill in at the camellia bushes, less is more, at 87.
      Dear March, come in and be gentle with my mom. Keep my Boston, New Hampshire kids  safe in the storms, and The Atlanta Barons, help us to weather the see-saw of perfect, without too much complaining.
      And readers of my blog, grab a book of poetry or two, it will fill your soul .
      Until, you can get in the yard!
      Come on in, sister March. Blow ever so softly, be a lamb.