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In The Pines
As I worked in the yard today rakin' and mowin' I could hear the pines gently whispering to me. There's a line of them running west to east in just the right spot to block some of the ever present wind that blows over this hill that is home.

The former inhabitants of this old house were Mr. and Mrs. W.W. Council and their family. Mr.Council was a horse man from way back when. They lived here close to 50 years so I thank them daily for the horticultural gifts that were left to me.....big old peony bushes and strategically placed trees. Daffodils and stone walkways. The house was built in 1918 or thereabouts as a part of a sprawling complex that eventually became The Ferguson Farm, purveyors of produce, livestock, and their own unique little world. Profits from a WWI army raincoat biz paid for the place.

As I worked on this winter's collection of leaves and pine needles, I thought back to the very first time that I cleaned out that pine grove. For the first 10 years that we lived here, I didn't touch it. One spring, I got a wild hair and started in on a project that lasted 6 months just to get to bare dirt. Up to that point, the Virgina creeper and poison ivy wound their way through a foot of 20 year old wet pine needles and leaves to reach the little bit of sunshine that could be found.

Now, there is a shade bed where the nasty blanket once lay. Hostas...astillbes...four o'clocks. One of my favs is the "foamflower" that does it's thing in April and then sits there for the rest of the year lookin' cute.

It's that time y'all. I travel with a shovel in my trunk so I can dig up what I see along the roadside and bring it home to MY yard. I'm hopeless.

But that's okay, because Spring only comes once a year.
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