So much depends. . .
Wednesday morning, early, as gentle rainwater glazed my green wheelbarrow, I transplanted pansy plants into large pots near my back door.
I performed the task in bare feet and was still wearing my nightclothes. The rain on my face and neck, my bare feet on the wet grass, felt great.
Whenever water falls out of the sky in dry southern Idaho, we rejoice.
For one thing, rain signals warmth. Rain even in summer months means the beans and tomatoes won't freeze, and we gardeners can relax a bit instead of running about most evenings covering precious plants when sudden temperature drops in clear weather can easily mean the loss of several weeks' work.
Every March and April, I nearly always feel behind before I get going. For instance, right now I have a mound of compost I need to move to my garden proper before I plant my cool weather crops, but age and an old ski injury limit my physical ability. Even so, I'm determined to work slowly and doggedly, like the tortoise in that infamous Aesop tale, to achieve my goal.
The dark moon was Tuesday, according to an Internet moon phase calendar, so planting is fortuitous for the next couple of weeks with the moon waxing. With any luck, this weekend I'll get a section prepared for lettuce, radishes, chard, etc., and get a trellis set up for peas.
Saturday morning: As houseguests and I sip our morning coffee, a snowstorm blows in from the west. Here it is April 1, 2006, and more snow. Why are the gods fooling with us?