Tuesday Twitterteedum

Everybody's got their crocus shots posted, it seems. Everybody probably thinks their crocuses are the prettiest, and that's the way it oughta be.

If you don't love your own crocus, which are rearing their pretty heads with such pride one week after you were griping cuz it wouldn't stop snowing, you need an attitude adjustment.

What's to not like about crocus in the spring! After all, they've got the most guts. They're like leaders among wusses. The leaders step forward into the line of fire, and only when the leaders are still standing, the wusses follow.

So, we all owe the crocuses in our still semi-slumbering flower beds a big salute.

Speaking of flower beds, I've got a new one this year, unlike any I've ever had. I'd show it to you, but it needs flowers in it to be properly appreciated. When that happens, I'll be sure to photograph it and post it on the blog.

I also have that new planter, built over the winter from shavings boards, filled almost to the brim with rich, aged horse manure and frosted with a bag of potting soil. It's out near the barn, and I'm looking forward to planting an assortment of flowers and veggies in it.

Since I have that planter filled to the brim with rich, aged horse manure, I also have a sore back this morning.

That's the other thing that comes with spring----body abuse. A unexplained bruise here, a bruise there; achy muscles, sore backs, invisible but painful stickers, new arthritis that wasn't in that spot last year, etc. Then, come the scratches. As we cast off the protective winter clothing, we forget that rubbing up against those limbs 'neath the apple tree can quickly make us look like we're in to self-mutilation.

Which, by the way, brings me to another subject I saw this morning on Facebook. One of my friends posted a photo or two of her grandkids skinning muskrats. I posted an onomatopoeic response, which I've heard come out of Annie's mouth a time or two: EEEEEYOU!

I told Bill about the muskrat blood and gore, and he immediately told me to tell my friend that he once witnessed firsthand the world champion muskrat skinner, who hailed from the Luzianna swamps, skin three muskrats in 9 seconds. It was at a muskrat skinning competition where three muskrats are laid out side by side with a sharp knife next to them. When the whistle blows, up comes the knife and off comes the skin----at a rate of three seconds per critter.

Bill also said he'd dined on muskrat. I think it had to have been a Boy Scout cookout. He said he did not like its flavor.

For that, I am glad. In the meantime, I'm going to ask my friend how fast those little grandbabies can skin a 'krat.

It's another beautiful day in the neighborhood, where yesterday while riding along the Center Valley roads, I saw Stan Meserve fixing fence, Dan Wood's crew working away at that house, which is now on its foundation; Jesse Watson doing final touches on their cute new garage, Dad and Daughter Reiner doing some remodel work on their rental house, Corey Green and Linda Collins riding their horses, Todd Russell fixing fence, Roxane Conrad and her hubby riding horses, and a whole lot of squawking geese.

These have been good days, even if my body is falling apart.