How I Dearly Love Spring! 

                                                                           

        Everywhere I've lived with real winter, when the snow begins to thaw, and I can switch out sweaters for warm-weather tops, boots for flip-flops, and stop wearing socks to bed, my nefesh soars. For those unfamiliar with the term, nefesh means soul or spirit in Hebrew. Regardless of language, there's something about spring and the emergence of flowers and vibrant greenery that lifts the human spirit. In some parts of the northern hemisphere where winter can last until nearly June, spring is like a balm, a salve that helps the spirit thaw and feel human again. 

    Here in Texas, the weather teases us unmercifully. In March and sometimes as early as February, warmer temps, as in shorts weather, arrive, and we rush to the nurseries for seeds, colorful plants, and bags of fresh soil, tickling our fancies with dreams of yards that will look like estate botanical gardens tended by a bevy of professional landscapers. And then a cold front barrels through, dropping the temps into the 20s or low 30s, and we watch our beautiful new plantings wilt and die before our tearful eyes. The smart gardeners among us have either started their plantings in seed starter kits inside or in a greenhouse, if they're lucky enough to have one, or patiently wait until the cold fronts stop swooping in and then go buy nursery pretties and plant them when there's no chance of the mercury dropping below 50 degrees.   

    Me? I've lived the grief of planting too soon, as well as waiting, which had its own drawbacks. Planting radish, carrot, turnip, and other cold-weather veggies too late will often produce woody, hard vegetables that not even the squirrels will eat. As the saying goes, timing is everything. 

    And then, in my garden, there's my annual battle of the tomatoes. I love fresh tomatoes. Who doesn't? And I adore birds, especially the cardinals, robins, woodpeckers, finches, mockingbirds, doves, grackles, blue jays, and the darling Carolina chickadees who call my yard home. The only problem is that they like tomatoes, too. Hubby put up a couple of bird feeders, a hummingbird feeder, and a platform where he anchors seed cakes that he makes for the birdies. He really goes out of his way to take good care of them, so why do they have to eat MY fresh tomatoes?  

    Last year I planted just one tomato plant with regular-sized red tomatoes and one with mini yellow pear tomatoes, and guess what I discovered? They weren't terribly interested in the tiny yellow pear tomatoes. They went after the bigger red ones. Now, you're probably wondering why I didn't put netting over the plants to prevent the feathery vertebrates from dining on my precious tomatoes. I did! And they got in there anyway, except that they didn't bother with the mini yellow pear tomatoes. Lesson learned. 

    Last week, I was at a nursery and saw lots of tomato plants for sale. I walked right past the Celebrity, Roma, Better Boy, Early Girl, Beefsteak, heirlooms, and all the other enticing tomato plants calling to me. At the end of the row, I found scads of mini yellow pear and red cherry tomato plants. I grabbed one of each and planted them in pots when I got home. Why pots, you wonder? So I can keep a close eye on them in case an interloper like a squirrel or bird goes after them. If they do, I'll put together big cages and set them over the pots, and I'll weigh the cages down with heavy rocks on the top. No more poor me playing the victim. Nope. I got this. This summer, I'm going to have more tomatoes than I can use. And maybe, just maybe, I'll put a plate of extras out in the yard for the birds to nosh on. That is if they're nice and don't try to wiggle their way into my cages and decimate my crop.

    I sure do love spring. 

    Till next time,

    Jeffree

Mensch and I are Famous!

            You've probably seen pics of my incredibly adorable, Schnorkie, Mensch. Those soulful eyes, that face, I melt every time I look at him except when he's barking his brains out, which is how he communicates. I'd always heard that terriers bark a lot and are stubborn. I had no idea until this guy adopted me. I've discovered there's no way to get around it, considering he's half mini schnauzer and half Yorkshire terrier. But I digress.

            Around the time the total eclipse recently descended on Texas, a beautiful black lab appeared in our driveway and walked into our garage when my husband got out of the car. She was such a beautiful, sweet dog, clearly looking for love and a forever home. We ended up fostering her for a few days while we tried to locate her owner, which never happened because, unfortunately, our town is known as a place where people dump their unwanted dogs. Abandoned dogs run all over town, looking for their loved ones who are long gone. It really upsets me. I try to help rather than ignore the problem. 

            Eventually we did find someone who wanted her with all his heart. One of our town's police officers who transported her back and forth from the shelter in a larger city fell head over heels with her. We were ecstatic because they were clearly mesmerized with one another. Unfortunately, he couldn't take her home until the end of his shift the next day. So, the sweet girl hung out with Mensch in our back yard. It was pretty cute to watch the two of them play. At Mensch's full height, his head only came up to just above her knees. His body barely reached her knees. And that gave him a big advantage as they chased one another around the yard. Mensch ran wild and crazy circles around her, which made her spin like a top trying to catch our boy. When the sun went down, she and Mensch ate dinner together, and my husband made up a doggie bedroom for her in our breezeway. As soon as we turned out the light at bedtime, we discovered she was terrified of the dark. That poor dog was crying so loud that we were pretty sure the whole neighborhood heard her. We figured what's a few more cents on our electric bill to keep the light on for her. 

            Anyway, the story of Luna, as she came to be called, was one I couldn't forget. When Chicken Soup for the Soul issued a call for a new title: What I Learned From My Dog, I knew I had to write and send in the story of that very special dog who came into our lives near the total eclipse. Ya know, I've heard that strange things, magical things, have been known to happen just before, during, and after an eclipse. I never paid much attention to those accounts, but I sure do now. Luna was indeed one of them.

            The book was recently published and is now available wherever books are sold. Although the story isn't about Mensch, he did have a supporting role, and that's why he's included in the photo above. The Chicken Soup for the Soul folks sent us a bag of their doggie treats that I sparingly fed to Mensch while he helped me open the box of books. Now, every time I open the door to the kitchen pantry he charges in ahead of me, sits and stares at the shelf with "his" treats, and thumps his tail as though saying, "Come on, Mom!"

Till next time,