I managed to get all the sod off the Lozenge Bed (RIP Lozenge Bed), placed some stepping stones here and there so I could still get in without compacting the soil, and planted two new roses to go with my Granada and Honor stalwarts: Guy de Maupassant and Tahitian Sunset. I also moved the Princess Victoria Louise poppy over a little so there would be more room for all its enchanting gorgeousness (if you ever buy a poppy, buy this one). I piled on a little topsoil, some of Home Despot's finest, and bashed around happily with my new garden fork. Spring was around the corner, I could feel it.
I brought out the beach rocks we'd hauled back from our holiday over the past few years. There's a pattern in these collections: one year it was all green rocks, another year it was all spotted rocks, and yet another it was all round, smooth, flat rocks. Now they are winding around the Scotch moss, well, until the Scotch moss comes out of dormancy and starts taking over the garden again...
I stuck some bricks on a hill, to make a sort of staircase. It's very atmospheric, isn't it, even if the bricks aren't as, err, functional as I would have liked.
At least now I can get down that hill without sliding on my butt half the time.
Then, this morning, I glanced out and saw this, on my charming new topiary frame
Heavenly dandruff? I thought hopefully.
No, very very sadly, it was snow.
And that, very tragically, was nothing compared to what we looked out onto an hour later. At one point there was at least 4" of the stuff on the deck. The kids were thrilled. I, on the other hand, was SO not thrilled.
So instead I did a FDPG: I stuck my metaphorical fingers in my metaphorical ears and pretended the weather was more, err, metaphorically spring-like.
"I can't hear you, snow, I can't hear you."
If I click my heels together twice and wish upon a star, will this come back tomorrow?