My mother has a green thumb.
Actually, I think all of my mother’s fingers are green. Perhaps her toes, too. She’s THAT good with flowers and anything gardening related. She knows every type of flower I could ever think of, as well as when to plant it, how much sunlight it needs, if it is an annual or perennial, and other tidbits only an experienced gardener would know. She loves lillies. And poppies. And I want to say zennias, too. Or maybe that is my dad. Dad doesn’t like lilacs, but mom does. I like lilacs, also. They smell nice. At least better than fresh cow manure that ripens the air around these parts. And boy let me tell you, it gets pretty RIPE at times.
When I think of my mom, I think of tulips and irises, moon flowers and tall grasses, hostas (that are always getting ate by the deer and rabbits), lillies of course, sunflowers and cosmos… petunias and daisies. Flowers are kind-of my mom’s thing and she does a darn good job at it.
Then there’s me.
I planted hostas around the chicken coop last summer. I got them half dead and super cheap from Meijer. The guy working the outdoor area asked me if I was sure I wanted to purchase them “in that condition.” Yes, buddy. You think those withering, brown leaves scare me? No. Because regardless, that’s likely how they’ll end up. I have zero expectations when it comes to gardening. Zero. No expectations equals no hurt feelings.
I absolutely love watching spring unfold around our new home. This will be our second spring here and I forgot how lovely everything looks when it’s not covered in three feet of snow! I also forgot how much dog-poo accumulates in the yard throughout winter. And how annoying those helicopter things are that fall from our maple tree and cover our deck. Hubby begins his seemingly never-ending cycle of picking up sticks and mowing the lawn with equal parts of complaining about picking up sticks and mowing the lawn. Boxelder bugs are sneaking in through our windows and Boomer won’t stop eating them. Two trees in our back yard randomly fell a few days ago. The chickens occasionally poop on the concrete patio. BUT, as for the half-dead hostas I got last summer? They GREW BACK!
Then my chickens ate them.
Don’t get me wrong, I really do love everything about spring-time and being a homeowner… yard work, dog-poo, and hosta-eatin’ chickens included. I am thankful for longer days and warmer weather. For being able to study on the back deck in the fresh air. To watch the sandhill cranes arrive in our back field and spend the spring/summer hanging around the yard. I love watching the OG chickie babes scratch and hunt for bugs and dust bathe beneath the trees out back. The dogs run full speed chasing each other in the field and I swear they have smiles on their faces. Our crimson king we planted last year for our one year “house-iversary” has buds on it and I couldn’t be more excited to watch it grow as we live here! And, my most favorite thing about spring? BABY CHICKS!
The newest little chickie babes are growing, growing, growing! All 19 of them… They are still fairly small and I can fit two of them in one of my palms. It is such a fulfilling, delightful feeling. Two little fuzzy peepers sitting in your palm, staring at you. Their warm little bodies and soft down feathers paired with those adorable little chirps makes my heart melt every time.
The light chickie babe is one of my olive eggers. I am hoping she will grow to lay beautiful olive-colored eggs to add a unique pop of color to the browns and whites. The black chickie babe is one of my black copper marans. She will grow to lay a “chocolate” egg… a deep, dark brown color that is almost too pretty to crack open! I love watching these happy chicks grow and gain their own personalities. They put a smile on my face and give me something to look forward to each and every day! I am one happy chickie mom!