Weeks ago, I succumbed to temptation of warm days in early spring and planted eggplants, peppers and herbs that I usually plant in late May.
Last night I was in the garden, assessing the damage from a hard, late spring frost.
The buckwheat that I'd planted as a cover crop died. As did the pepper plants that were covered with just a light layer of straw. The potato plants that were peeking through the straw are questionable.
The eggplant and basil that I'd covered with a heavy layer of straw survived. And, of course, the peas are thriving.
And so I did what gardeners have been doing for generations.
I spent the evening in the garden. Mornings that produce frosts often turn into bright, sunshiny days and calm evenings that linger into sunset. It was a perfect evening to be outdoors.
I pulled weeds that survived the frost quite well, and I dug in the dirt and marveled at the earthworms, and watched the lambs romp in the pasture, and listened to the birds. I planted tomatoes in the dead buckwheat patch and made plans for more plants.