Appalachian spring

“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.” Margaret Atwood, Canadian poet

Oh, the trouble I’ve gotten myself into reading “creative” magazine spreads and blog posts. I’ve melted crayons onto my ironing board, made cucumber cups that slid right out of people’s fingers. But, hope springs eternal.

Literally, as it turns out.

Color has returned to our cottage garden. The honey bees are scouting the crocuses. And, I am a little crazy.

You see, there’s a magazine spread that features a garden similarly topsy-turvy to our own. Small, oddly shaped, enclosed by a picket fence, and flowers spilling out so bountifully they’re practically smacking passersby in the face.

“I want our garden to look just like this this year,” I told my husband a day or two ago, kind of shoving the magazine in his face. “And, these animal sculptures are not tacky. They’re whimsical.”

(The garden in question is owned by an artist who sculpted rabbits, dogs, turtles and what-not for the top of every upright post on the fence.)

“I didn’t say they were tacky,” he said warily. “But, we can’t carve those.” (He has such a dislike of lawn ornaments, I’ve begun to suspect he is hiding my glass grasshopper. It’s harder to find every spring.)

“We could buy plastic ones and spray paint them to match the fence,” I shot back.

(Truthfully, I don’t care about the sculpted critters. I just want more flowers. This is a case of going big or going home. Except I want to go big at home. Anyone who is married will be able to track what I’m saying here. Strategy, people.)

So, if you see me at the grocery with dirt on my nose or hear that I’ve melted something or spray painted a plastic skunk you’ll know why. It’s the magazine’s fault.