My herb pot took off like gangbusters. What to do with a bushel of parsley? Everything looks lush and green, but it's amazing how fast the soil dries out as we approach the Solstice. At our northern latitude, the sun is extreme, giving us extra dark winters and blinding bright summers.
We're having a nice stretch of weather and it's finally starting to edge up toward 70 degrees. Another big weeding session yesterday, still clearing out the early bulb foliage.
The beds are also overrun with Spanish Bluebells, which sounds like a nice problem until they choke out everything else. I saved some bulbs for Amanda, but not sure if they like central Washington climate.
Many weed problems are of my own making, like alliums that go to seed. These sprout into dense mats of skinny green stalks that never bloom, and they smell like onions as you rip off the tops. There are worse things. The teeny bulbs stay deep in the soil to torture you fresh next spring.
But I'm not really complaining. I'm thankful I can still get down on my knees in the dirt on a beautiful spring day. Every day is a gift. An old and tired but wise cliche.
This morning I have an in-person meeting with the volunteer coordinator for CHI Franciscan Hospice. Incredibly, everything up to this point has been phone, video training courses, or Zoom sessions.
After a year long process, this is the final, final screening, where you sign paperwork, take another test, get a photo badge and receive your PPE. (We're required to wear both mask and face shield to visit patients.) Am I ready after all that training? I have to admit quite honestly-- no idea.
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