Glorious Saturday, how glad I am to see you . . . though Pester Hour was annoyingly prompt this morning. Young Chuck knows all of the ways to get me out of bed: licking my eyelids might be the very worst, though trying to put his nose up my nose is also bad. In any case, both are impossible to sleep through.

But now he is happily filled with breakfast, and I am happily filling with coffee, so all is forgiven.

Last time I looked, temperatures were supposed to get into the 50s today, which means I am going to plant. I'll set up the cold frame and sow lettuce mix under it. I've also got radish and cilantro seeds to sow, though I'll need to acquire arugula and spinach. I'll get a load of laundry onto the outside lines. I'll buy a new hose and some groundhog fencing. If I have time I'll start weeding out the first round of maple seedlings; those little monsters always start invading early.

I am so eager for a day of fresh air and puttering. Yesterday I celebrated my first outdoor laundry of the season. All day long I would glance out the window just for the pleasure of watching towels kick and flutter in the spring breeze. And then late afternoon: burying my face in the stiff clean shirts and snuffing up the scent of wind . . . There is nothing sweeter.

Spring always makes my blood tingle. It is my favorite season, an amazement every year.