It's raining, which wouldn't be so bad except that I want to work in my garden today. I have sprouting seed potatoes under the kitchen sink and it is past time to plant the peas, edible pod peas, which are always an anticipated treat. The weather, which was so lovely has turned cold and damp, the kind of weather that damps off seedlings, turns seeds to rot and freshly tilled ground to a muddy mess that drys to a cement like consistency.
The old farmer would be the first to observe this will be a bad year for gardening, a poor year for apples, because as he would always say "If it's a good year for lilacs it's a good year for the garden." These are last years lilacs, most of this didn't make it into bloom, they were frozen, the drowned.
