My first crocus bloomed on the first day of spring, and a beautiful first day it was--warm, faintly breezy, a bright blue sky, the trees bustling with birds. Paul and I watched a pair of courting tufted titmice flit back and forth among the highest twigs, singing their sweet call-and-response flirtation. I head crows and mourning doves and cardinals and a hairy woodpecker and a pileated woodpecker.

And I heard most of them from the comfort of my Christmas hammock, a gift from James, who remembered how much time I spent in his when we were up at Baxter last summer. The only place I have to hang it is among my clotheslines, but it is surprisingly pleasant to float among the towels and work pants, to blink up into the massive bare trees, listening to birds, cocooned away from the city.

Today I plan to coax Tom into taking me to Lowe's and buying fresh gravel for the Lane. And I've got grocery shopping to do and bread to bake, a bike to ride and a hammock to loll in. No planting yet, but soon--