Tonight I went out after supper and spent a few hours weeding the garden and planting beans. The lettuce, spinach, onions, asparagus, and radishes are thriving. The garlic is over a foot tall. The rhubarb skipped spring altogether and is trying to go to flower. And the potatoes are up. Tomorrow I plant everything else except the tomatoes, which are still hardening off (yes, they finally germinated. But the gooseberries never did). I am hoping to have a lush tangle of green in the garden before long. And right on cue, the peonies are starting to bloom. They are the signal to plant the warm-weather stuff, so we're right on target. A couple of weeks later than last year, but good enough for me!
Of course just as the yard starts getting busy, my deadline for the publisher starts to loom. I'll have to force myself to balance my two favourite activities, gardening while the weather cooperates and the light lasts, then retreating to the computer in the late evenings. This story is proving difficult, because I was stupid enough to choose an actual historical event in a real setting and that means lots of research. Bleh. I much prefer pure fiction, when you don't have to stick to facts. And I admire those writers who can get their characters to cooperate and do what they're told. Mine keep breaking away and running amuck and bringing in plot elements I never intended to address. It's like herding a lapful of bouncy puppies who sulk in the corner if you try to rein them in.