chivied

Provenance: M and I are up to our elbows in last year's garden, the coiling vines of my tomato plants shattering into garbage bags. Crisped strawberry leaves come away in handfuls, revealing sleepy ladybugs and wizened turds. In the beds along the house, clumps of chives have sprouted in their corner, with singletons appearing where my lettuce will be, where my mint and red-veined sorrel will be. As I pull the volunteers, combing tiny clods out of the roots and putting them aside, Aa comes up behind me. She has dirt on her upper lip, her (pink) hat is askew, but she's excited by the plastic frog she found in what she's calling her 'area.' When you live next to a house with seven kids, a fair number of volunteers wind up in your yard. This spring's tally? One large Dora ball, one large-ish fluorescent yellow superball, and the frog.