Summer in April

It's 11:30am and 82 degrees F. Summer has arrived in the midst of April. I washed all our winter coats and went out to hang them on the clothesline, passing the vegetable garden as I went.

The garden is a field of blooming dandelions. My goodness.

I checked on the peas, a little concerned that the snap peas had not yet sprouted, even though the snow peas have been up for nearly two weeks. If they don't come up in this weather, they never will. To my relief, I spotted one solitary pea shoot amid the straw. Snap peas in June. I can hardly wait. Last weekend, I planted lettuce and radishes, now quietly germinating under row covers to protect them from flea beetles and neighborhood cats, and scattered parsley seed in the herb bed.

The overwintered kale has shot up into a purplish-green bush of leaves, and an overwintered mustard actually had the temerity to bolt into bright yellow bloom. The garlic is perking up, sending out new shoots. Soon we'll have garlic scapes for salads and stir fry. The sage is greening up and needs pruning, now that it's obvious which stems survived the winter. Chives are poking green fingers at the sky. The rhubarb has exploded into a rippling mass of leaves, and the stalks might be ready in as little as a couple of weeks. The strawberries are blooming, the blueberries are sending out their first new green leaves, and the peach trees have burst into blossom. And, strange but wonderful, the fennel planted last year has come back from its roots in a little olive green hedgerow. Does anyone know whether such fennel will set good heads for harvest? I had no idea that fennel could be grown as a perennial.

Growing your own food has more compensations that convenience and environmentalism. Gardens in spring are surprisingly, stunningly gorgeous. I can't wait to see what comes up next.