Different time, different place

Slight detour seems to be the name of the game today as I've changed my morning routine, thanks to the time change. Now that we're back in the early morning darkness during paper fetching and horse feeding, I let the horses stay in their stalls for another hour until the daylight came this morning. That decision came easily as I walked toward the barn in my low-cut work shoes only to splash through a few surprising lakes lurking in the darkness.

We had a major meltdown this weekend, literally. I was amazed to see how tall our new board fence has suddenly become now that a foot of snow has turned to water and begun its journey toward the neighbor's pond to our west. The trip to Seattle made all the difference in my outlook. Over on Washington's west side, I saw green grass. I saw daffodils in full bloom, and I saw fruit trees showing off their spring wardrobes.

I was glad to be away where Saturday and Sunday in Sandpoint would have evoked some fairly stale and grumpy observations. Watching snow melt slowly after several weeks of yearning to see green grass is far less desirable than going away and returning to see that Mother Nature was pretty darned busy while I was gone. So was Bill.

He did a masterful job of cleaning stalls, feeding horses, watering plants and keeping the Lovestead Naturals in a state of natural satisfaction. On his watch, not only the board fence grew in completion and height but also the tomatoes, the marigolds and the garden window tulips. I don't know if Bill had anything to do with the bird count growing, but population is looking and sounding good this morning.

One other item for which he can take no responsibility caught my eye this morning as I walked the back lawn and visually plotted off where the next stretch of vegetable garden will grow. Anyone in North Idaho knows what I'm gonna say, and I've already seen reference to the annual March phenomenon on a friend's blog: those perennial dog logs.

If only we had a market, times can be tough on producing naturals in North Idaho, but nothing except a drastic population decline can stop a million dog logs from growing during our winters. They keep themselves hidden and suddenly appear---just like mushrooms. Dog logs rank with robins as harbingers. Once we see them scattered about in virtually every square foot of lawn, we know for sure spring is here. We just haven't figured out where a demand might exist for them where we can make our fortunes.

Maybe some day. In the meantime, the daylight savings time has created the proper outlook for springing ahead. Moreover, the new look at the Lovestead has breathed exhilaration in my soul for good times ahead, especially the gradual unveiling of this year's coat of many colors.

Ah, spring!