Finally, Walking Weather

It being April 17, I spent most of today in service to the IRS gods, scurrying from financial planner to accountant, writing over-large checks. Ow, ow, ow. When I walked into my financial planner's office, just to find out into which IRA or simple plan I should dump money to avoid intense tax pain, it became apparent that he had picked that moment, nay, the next hour, to do a full frontal financial intervention. He whipped out his dry erase markers and memo board and went at it. Full display, tail spread, gobbling; I felt like a hen turkey mutely watching him strut his stuff. OK. OK. Just tell me how big a check to write, and to where. I love my planner and am grateful that he cares enough to guide me. I believe him when he says he can double my money, what paltry sum there is, in seven years. I just don't like thinking about any of this, and the language is foreign to me. Before tax, after tax, deferred tax, simple plan, college plan, Roth, traditional, big bucket small bucket deduction adjusted gross income please release me let me free. Maybe someday I will invite him out here and give him the lowdown on, say, warped bluebird psychology. And see if his eyes roll back in HIS head. P, if you read this (and I doubt you do), know that I'm grateful, hopelessly ignorant, and deeply appreciative of your skills, and I hope that someday I have enough money to actually play with, to justify your effort.
The only thing to do when I finally got home was to take a walk. Head all bunged up. It was finally and absolutely beautiful out, 60 degrees, just the right temperature for a Carhartt jacket with no lining. As beautiful as my orchids are, I'd like to see them survive 11 days of subfreezing nights and come out blooming. These flowers may not be hot pink or molten magenta, they may not be noticeably fragrant or the size of my palm, but they are what is at hand, and they are beautiful in a small, white way. My friend KF gently chided me today, reminding me that there HAD to be something blooming out in the woods, so this post is for him. The little bumbershoots of mayapple.

Shy blossoms of rock saxifrage.

Golden ragwort, a lousy name for a sweet plant.

I am in awe of these plants, that send shoots up in 35 degree weather, that persist and survive. We should all be so indefatigable. If we could just get on with living the way they do, and not let gloom and icy cold--the irrefutable evidence that the universe cares naught for us--get us down. They grow and bloom, despite it all.

Coming up the old orchard, I checked boxes. The backyard bluebirds are due to hatch in about six days. Yayyyy. I was elated to find the Carolina chickadees nesting in the same box they chose last year. I LOVE these birds. They're excellent nest architects and even better parents. They have chipped out the whole inner front of the box, making a fabulous wood chip foundation for a layered parfait of moss and animal hair. Check out this lining. Deer and rabbit, and plant down...In my next life I want to come back as a baby Carolina chickadee. I dug down a little to see if there were any eggs, but none yet. Chickadees cleverly hide their eggs under a layer of fur until they're ready to start incubating. They leave them cold until they have five or six, and then they pull back the blanket and start incubating. Soon come. Nothing sweeter than baby chickadees, take it from me.
For his part, Baker had a fabulous time. He loves to run up fallen logs.
I love to take pictures of him, running up said logs.
He loves to be photographed, running up logs. It's a symbiosis. It's so exhilarating to walk with someone this enthusiastic. I took him into town this morning to run errands with me, and he hauled me down Front Street like a Nantucket sleigh ride. How can you not smile when you're being forcibly pulled down a springtime sidewalk by a 23-pound Boston terrier? Come on, Mether. There are spring beauties and squirrels to be found. Maybe even turkehs.