In quiet moments, I can feel myself being pulled into May. It's a heady green siren song: month of lilacs and last frost, of tomato plants in the ground and the first warm thunderstorm. On the 16th, we celebrate exactly a year as Gilbertsvillians. Last year, May was such a blur of unpacking and hauling and digging and scrubbing and schlepping, I think it passed me over completely without a single quiet moment.
Not so, this year. The early spring means I've already accomplished so much of what was on my bucket list for the whole summer. The shrubs are planted. The garden is begun. That means it's ok to sit on the back steps with a cup of tea for an hour before I start my writing day; it's ok to stroll around the yard with Pete and Diesel, to take pleasure in all the little sounds and smells and sights of being in this place in this season.
We visit the blueberry bushes, which are budding. We visit the apple and cherry trees, which are leafing out. The hard work of last season is there in the details, and now I have the time to see them and be content.
Pete meanders over to say hi to Genevieve, who puffs herself out and charges the fence, intimidating as any eighth grade quarterback. Pete gallops off. There is still a lot ahead in this heady year: planting an "insectory" garden between the driveway and the vegetable garden, to bring beneficial insects in to carry off my cabbage loopers. Planting comfrey and daffodils and more chives and lupines in the orchard, which will, in theory, work together in perfect harmony with the apple trees, and cut down on the need to mow. But right now, I'm most looking forward to our four little yellow puffballs, slated to arrive about mid-month. Chicks!
Oh, May. Oh good month.