We've got a low-grade garden fever. C. started another flat of onions, and I've gathered all the seeds into a fine old vintage suitcase and sorted them into Larrys (accordion folders). Not to be anal or anything. For a slob, though, I can get pretty organized. Maybe twice a year, in small areas. Perhaps the size of a suitcase.
When gardening season is here, C. will stuff her garden apron with various seed packets and rampage around sowing like crazy. If she isn't careful, some will get wet and some will get lost. Seed Central Suitcase is an effort to keep everything together and at hand. And away from mice.
C. has been bugging me to start some sprouts. I resisted at first, but have succumbed. Some kind of fresh green would sure be welcome, for people and for rabbits. And sprouts are incredibly nutritious. I sprouted fodder for the rabbits in a big way three years ago, in nursery trays in the old boys' bathroom, but lost use of the room when the rabbits had to be moved in after a flood.
|Lentils, left, and dill seeds thinking about sprouting|
C. is working on a quilt for Liam, using some cool animal fabric she got in Montreal. She is cussing furiously. It's not going well. Math has reared its ugly head.
I made blueberry muffins last night, using an old hippie recipe from the Tassajara Bread Book. No surprises here – they're hearty! There's one left – should have doubled the recipe.
Just put a batch of double-chocolate double-pecan brownies in the oven, and am back at the computer trying not to get batter on the keyboard as I lick the spatula. Mmm.
One little egg today. Five yesterday.