It is nice to have a few decent, recent photos of myself, and I really appreciate the arts commission photographer, who is good at his job.

You'd think, given that I've been living with a professional photographer for most of my life, I'd have an easy time acquiring acceptable pictures of myself. But in fact we have constantly struggled over headshots and other such paraphernalia. Neither of us is relaxed in pose mode, and my last tolerable portrait is a phone shot I took myself.

**

This morning I'll be back at my desk, sorting through various editing projects before turning my thoughts to housework and groceries. We did not end up canoeing yesterday: the weather was so raw that we realized we'd just be miserable. So instead I worked in the garden: did some planting and weeding, set up more animal fencing, mowed grass, washed down the yard chairs and table after their months in storage. Chuck trotted back and forth between the front door and the back door, keeping track of my progress. He is cozy company, even with a door between us. I also did a little front-yard foraging for dandelion buds, which, like nasturtium buds and new milkweed pods, can be pickled and substituted for capers in recipes.

Foraging for dandelions does scratch the spring itch a little, but I will never stop mourning my fiddlehead patch. Last week, when I was in Wellington, I felt a surge of sorrow when I remembered spring in Harmony. After dinner, at this time of year, I'd leave the boys in the house and go out with my shovel to turn over a few rows in the garden. Without leaves on the trees, the late-day light was blunt and stark. Evening chill was settling in, and often the newly thawed soil was speckled with ice crystals. The muscles of my arms and shoulders recalled their strength. I fought with the big stones that lurched up each year from the ledge below. In the circle of trees around the clearing a pileated woodpecker wailed his archaic song.

I'm 61 years old and I don't want to be arguing with giant stones anymore. I feel lonesome for the me who did.