I sent off a note today to be sure before I did anything, though, and got the same young nurse practitioner calling back on the phone: no worries, she soothed, you don’t have the flu.
(Yeah I knew that.) Well then does that mean… (the obvious)
(First time I’ve ever had THAT phrase applied to me!)
Me: We’ve been self-quarantining. So if I feel fine is it okay to go to church on Sunday?
Boy did that change her tune fast. NO! No, don’t, not for another week or two. At least. You don’t want to expose other people who might not be as able to fight it off! People with compromised immune systems, the elderly.
And I hung up the phone thinking, you didn’t want me to panic but you finally almost said what we both now knew you were thinking.
So I took pretty pictures of the world coming back to life, marveled at all those blossoms on the one-year-old Frost in the corner, and tried not to have cabin fever.
Last year my Indian Free, the only peach that has to have a pollinator, bloomed just as the last few flowers on the last other tree were fading away. We still got a few fruits from it but one could only wonder whether this was how it was going to be.
Nope. Just Mother Nature playing fifty-two-card pickup. This year, all five peach trees are overlapping at least somewhat and there should be a good crop across the yard all summer long.
Blueberries in the last photo. Last year we were picking those in January, this year it waited till now to start.
Here, let me go pick up those scattered cards. Come time to plant my tomato seedlings I plan to be the queen of spades.
