Sitting at the dock

I am pleased to report that the dock spider(s) have successfully emerged from hibernation. At least I assume they hibernate because surely nothing could grow that big in the few days without frost running up to the long weekend. I have no idea where they go for their long winter’s nap. It can’t be under the dock because I don’t think the ice and snow would be a very habitable place. And actually, I don’t really want to know where they hang out in the off season, except if I did know I could torch them into oblivion while they were helplessly snoozing until spring. But on second thought that would be a waste of time because there is some sort of weird jungle drum communication system between docks and dock spiders and a new family would move in while the vacancy sign was still swinging. Unfortunately, the dock didn’t survive the winter as successfully as the spiders. But don’t be too concerned about the spider habitat – only one section suffered ice damage so there is still ample real estate to go around to much relief for everyone concerned.

The mice also seem to be sticking to their normal habitat after their entry point was thwarted last fall. No rampant mouse winter partying this year. Unfortunately, contrary to popular belief, mice do not automatically detect the presence of cats and run the other way. Our mice brazenly steal cat chow and hide it for future use in the stove, under the furniture and (my particular favourite) in my shoes. The cats on the other hand are oblivious to any mouse that breaches the perimeter. Good thing they never fulfilled their birthright as barn cats because that would not have ended well.

In other news, on the gardening front I am overjoyed to have produced enough rhubarb to make a pie for Thumbelina. In everyone else’s garden rhubarb runs rampant. Or at least I hope this was the case for everyone else because then I would get enough castoffs to last all summer. The chives are happy though, and the cats will be too if the catnip decides to germinate. Still way too early to tell if the new raised bed garden will rally forth with produce abundance, but surely at least one of the forty tomato plantlets will survive to adulthood. I may be having a giant BLT party in August. Either that or a giant pity party.

Otherwise all is well in cottage land. True to form for the May long weekend, the fireplace is lit, the sky is dark with drizzle and the air rings with the sound of power tools trying to right winter wrongs. Too early for the onslaught of pleasure boaters buzzing the shoreline. Too early for late night bonfires. Too early for sweaty jumps into the lake. But just the right time to sit with a cup of tea, gaze out to the spring green forest and be sure that summer will be on its way and then gone faster than you can roast a marshmallow.

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