It was productive, yet an unspactacular weekend at the mini-micro urban ranch. There are times when non-drama is good for the soul, and this was one of those times. The spring, which to date has been cold, cloudy, and rainy, took a break for a warmer interlude, and that led the hubster and I to dash outside and do as much as we could under a gentle but shining sun. He washed the dog, and I weeded. He mowed most of the lawn. I weeded. He weeded. I mowed the rest of the lawn. We both weeded. I potted some plants. Weeding commenced. You get the idea.
Wild Rhubarb and Stubborn Dandelion suffered and died horrible deaths. Yes, you can eat the rhubarb, but you really wouldn't want to. I used to give it to co-workers, but they never asked for more. I took it as a sign. The dandelions...well, they were taking up valuable real estate.
I went to the local Farmer's Market. Gosh, I missed that place. They have several during the week, but I cannot go as they are during work hours. The Saturday one is special to me. I've made acquaintance with some of the vendors there. It gives me a sense of peace knowing that I, a former Flower Child of the 70's, turned Valley Girl of the 80's can talk about bees and eggs and tomato varieties and double headed begonias. I feel like I'm starting to come home. I'm what you might call...a late bloomer.