We make lists full of possible fun weekend activities and then skip them all in favor of puttering around the yard.
Somehow, raking leaves off walking paths while still in your pajamas makes perfect sense.
The first butterfly of the season flutters by and we all yell with delight.
We ransack our house for seeds and put them into every pot, bed, or tray we can find, disregarding planning, directions, or general gardening wisdom. We just want to get stuff in the dirt.
The chickens are released from their pen and become our weekend outdoor entertainment and bane, as they try to undo all that seeding.
The quest for the perfect LEGO creation is abandoned for chicken catching.
The kids rediscover that this tree is good for climbing, that one makes the best pirate ship, and that other one is still an excellent horse.
Weekend lunches become a random assortment of snacks eaten outside at the picnic table.
A trip to gather seaweed for the garden becomes a spontaneous clamming excursion, even if the only tool we have is a garden fork.
Bikes move to their summer home in the front yard.
I yell “Close the door behind you!” 27 times every day. (Note to self: put on the self-closing screen door before sanity goes completely.)
I can’t keep up with the lessons. The peepers are done before we have a chance to really listen, the buds turn into leaves before I can point them out, and April is gone before we even fully realized it was here.
Crocus Watch becomes a forgotten thing of the past and Asparagus Watch takes its place.
I try to capture the random, delightful chaos of the season while writing outside, on the back deck, sitting on spilled potting soil because all our deck chairs are still in the basement and I couldn’t force myself out of the sun for even a few minutes.
What are the ways you know that spring is here?