Every spring the maple tree buds fatten long before the snow is done. And the robins return. Mama Robin is again sneaking around the end of the house pretending she doesn’t know a thing about the very obvious nest on the top of the stone pillar on the corner of our house. I’m glad to see her again although I have no idea how she plans to support a family on snow. But I was on my way to pick maple tree bloom buds. So I’m no smarter that said Robin. This time I looked up some know-how, because every year the buds outside end up beating the ones I brought in. So I used a hammer according to instructions and bruised the bottom of the stems before placing them in a vase of warm water. Now we shall see.
This is as good a place as any to confess that the tulip bulbs I was forcing, didn’t. They had nothing to bloom with inside that promising green. They dried up from the top down. I threw them away so I wouldn’t have to watch them do that. I think I’ll leave that to the magazine people after this.
Stone House Scribblings 