I LOVE my garden fork. It is a good one with a great grip that fits my arthritic hands perfectly, and has the sturdiest of tines. It snapped flush with the top of the metal sleeve that the handle slides into that holds the tines on. (I think I had probably cracked it previously right along the top of the metal sleeve.)    I don't see how to release the business end from the broken handle so I can replace it. Anybody know how to do this?
I also bent the slicing end of a fairly heavy mattock last fall, prying rocks and tree roots out of the ground to level a place for the shed Sister and I built.   Guess I need to buy one of those tall, heavy, iron thingies that you can use to jab or pry with, or slice ground to plant bunches and bunches of tree seedlings, and or a crowbar, (but they often aren't long enough to get the leverage needed to get deep-rooted shrubs or tree roots out.)   I've broken several otherwise good garden tools in the past, using them as a substitute for a pry bar.

Maggie, did you sow the poppy seeds? I'm about to decide that whatever is sprouting where I sowed mine are not poppies. The true leaves are just now starting to show as tiny little blips, but they are too dark a green, and my memory is the cotyledon leaves strongly resemble the first true leaves, which these don't. (You'd think I would know for sure, as long as I have been growing them! Old-timer's disease, I guess.) I haven't given up all hope - like larkspur, poppies take at least 30 days to germinate - but I should see signs very soon, or write them off. I've never waited so late to sow them before. My neighbors must find me a strange sight, bending over that bed every morning and evening, peering closely at the ground.

Bobert, that hellebore you gave me is the loveliest, creamy white, with no trace of green. I have another species with pink flowers of a slightly different form that is also doing well. I'm eager to figure out where to plant them and get them at home in the ground. I also brought the solomon's seal with me that you gave me a few years ago. They are starting to emerge.

I have 3 or 4 pots that I couldn't remember what was in them, and suspected that whatever was in them had died. A lily is starting to break through in one of those pots. I have no idea which of the lilies from the old garden I may have dug. I had a bunch of them, and thought I had run out of time and had not dug any of them. I also notice a few lilies emerging under trees here. They look pretty spindly and probably have not been fed or tended for a long time. Judging from the foliage, they are probably asiatic, or possibly tiger lilies.   I'll probably dig them up, put them in good deep beds, feed them, and see what happens over the next few years. I'm realizing that asiatic, tiger, and species lilies might do quite well along the borders of the property where they would get some morning sun. Maybe mixed in with lady fern?

I had also forgotten that I had dug a few species tulips, and they are well up, but don't look like they are going to bloom in the pot. They were in heavy shade and were hidden behind other pots, and I just noticed them this weekend when I was moving stuff around. The rabbits have done some nibbling. I'm sure they are Tulipa humilis, but they were dormant when I dug them, so I don't know if they are Persian Pearl or Eastern Star. Guess I'll plant them and find out next year.

Found a tiny little patch of bluets in the front yard!   And black oil sunflowers sprouting under the bird feeders. They'll peter out as soon as the trees leaf out.

With the time change, it is now daylight when I pick up my son on alternate weeks. I sit in the car on the street and look at the remnants of the garden I left behind with mixed feelings. Here by the road is the mixed patch of reticulated and crested irises, over there, the pheasant-eye daffodils that didn't bloom for years is covered with bloom. Here and there, the wonderful species Red Ridinghood tulips are in full bloom. In another spot, the lace-cap hydrangeas that I didn't have time to dig (and they were only 2 years old), look to be surviving. The bleeding heart and trout lilies are visible from the road, as are the hundreds and hundreds of daffodils and heirloom hyacinths. All neglected, (and by me for the last 18 months I lived there,) and some simply run over by ex-hubby's truck or lawnmower. Sad, to see the neglect, even recognizing that if I still lived there, I no longer have the time, nor the energy, to keep that garden up. It was not a low-maintenance garden, either in size or in the nature of the plantings. At the same time, it is gratifying to realize that as long as he doesn't simply mow everything down, (and even if he does), that garden was and that soil was attended to sufficiently that many plants will remain, especially the natives, and the good soil that I both brought in and built will still be there, and irises and bulbs, and self-sowing native plants that feed the birds and shelter the rabbits will be there for generations to come. Some day, a young couple will buy that house in winter or mid-summer, and marvel at what pops up in the oddest places come spring, just as I did my first spring and summer at that house.

I love these gardening threads and having the opportunity to share and read about the rest of you who love gardening. As many of you know, the last few years have been tough, personally and professionally, and I was beginning to think I had lost the energy and the will to start anew. I have no plans or clues right now, and no money to spend on mulch or hardscaping, edging, or anything else. But as spring marches forward, and I get out out there and play in the dirt, marvel at the miracle of emergence, get a sore back and dirt under my nails, and learn what you kindred gardening spirits are up to - listen to your enthusiam - my spirit is renewed and I accept that my cup runneth over, even when I don't see it.

Thanks. Thanks for letting me ramble. Especially, thanks for sharing your own love and experience of the renewal found in fostering the natural world.

Thanks and hugs to you