Raking leaves. This is a thing now, a must do thing. So why not do it when it is unseasonably warm in March? No good reason. Although the top inch of the soil is a mushy, slippery mess, underneath that top layer it's frozen solid. Except near tree trunks. There I find I can dig a little, but there's no good reason to.
And, there's this.
But, also this. It took me too long to identify this garlic mustard. Shame on me. Visibly green before the snow had fully melted and the soil still completely frozen must have thrown me. It's the only thing growing out there, well, besides the garlic in our little plot and the duckweed in the swale.
Seventy degrees F on Sunday, a high temperature and highly unusual, possibly a record. I sat on the front porch steps in the evening swatting away mosquitoes. Yes (you say No). Yes. Thankfully, yesterday afternoon, a cold front came in. Twenty four degrees F when I rose this morning, and with St. Patrick's luck the mosquitoes had no warm places to hide. Our little pot of gold.