Yesterday was so busy and un-Sunday-like: yard work all morning, teaching all afternoon, then dinner making, laundry folding, and all of the petty catchup tasks. But it was a good day, too. I mowed and trimmed, hung up the hammock, assembled the new outdoor table, planted dahlias, scrubbed moss off the house siding. And then, after lunch, I spent three hours with my new class of manuscript makers, moving them from anxiety into the first stages of confidence, which is always a satisfying progression. And then there was dinner: oven-fried haddock, farro, caramelized fennel and onions, and cherry tomatoes in vinaigrette, with fresh mangoes for dessert--an easy-to-make yet handsome meal and a fine punctuation mark on a long day.

I'm very happy with my spring gardens this year . . . just enough rain, no sudden temperature swings, no groundhog, and no particular trouble with insects yet. Here on the Terrace, the garlic is coming up well, as are the herbs along the perimeter, and I've got tomato stakes, the bean tower, and the cucumber trellis set up, ready for planting when I return from Chicago.

The little houses I brought back from Mount Desert Island--which my late friend Curtis had found on the side of the road, and which his wife gave me as a memento of him--have settled into their new neighborhood.

And the violets are in their modest glory, clustering among paving stones and thyme.

In the sidewalk garden my son calls Lantern Waste, white candytuft and golden cushion spurge are bright against the tulips and the peonies are coming in strong. Flowers give me such happiness.

This morning I'll undergo my exercise regimen, put in some editing time, and work on my George Herbert homework, and in the afternoon I'll devote myself to errands and garden matters. I'm eager to try out the new outside table; I need to mulch the new sidewalk lilies; I've got to do a round of weeding. We had steady rain last night, and today the temperature is supposed to reach 70 degrees, so I expect the yard to explode into high spring before my eyes.