Bursting out at the farmette

It's a chilly though sunny day in Grey County. We on the farmette are grateful that the federal election turned out the way it did.

We tuned in to Prime Minister Mark Carney's first press conference, and I gotta say, it gave us great comfort. Yes, it's a fourth Liberal term. But I honestly think Carney is the man for the moment.

Let's see how it goes. We can only hope.

Speaking of hope, there's a whole raft of it around the grounds just now. I was out taking shots this morning and there's more than enough interesting bits happening to fill this post.

I went a little nuts last fall, planting clumps of tulips in nearly all my beds. These early birds are particularly sunny, no?

I've finally decided to have raised beds in

the vegetable garden. Bill Markle, our handy man, did a fine job by making three, four by eight foot beauties.

It'll have a smaller footprint, but be easier for me to keep up (I hope). We have ordered soil to fill them. Expected to be delivered next week.

The last couple of years have really tested my patience with weeds. In the foreground are Rob's garlic plants, which are looking really hale and hearty.

The clematis survived the tonnes of snow that pummeled them over the winter. Apparently, they are associated with Greek gods and goddesses and are symbollic of mental ingenuity. They do know how to climb, and their blossoms are second to none for spectacular purple beauty.

These are the shoots of my Solomon's Seal. I have quite a good sized crop from a scraggly little single I got at the local horticultural sale a few years ago. Can't wait to see the metre-tall dark green fronds with delicate white bells hanging down and swaying in the breeze.

In the 'meadow', which is a chunk of land on the west side of the property that we've let go wild, there are wee clumps of muscari, or grape hyacinth. I know for a fact that I didn't plant them, but somehow they've inveigled themselves in among the grasses. Nice.

These wee harbingers of spring symbolize trust, sincerity and hope (yay). We all need more muscari in our lives, I'm thinking.

In the midst of horrifying world events, hope and flowers spring eternal. Until next week.

Gratuitous cat photo courtesy of Hobbes, who is ensconced in his favourite napping spot. Draped behind my head on my oversized chair in the sunroom.