Oh, I so stupidly needed to eat lunch at 11:30 and did not. I waited until I was hungry and done with the irises. And it was too late. I was exceedingly grouchy all afternoon. This was not helped by my trip to Charlotte Park, which, while beautiful, was home of racist graffiti and gunshots.
But I decided that I am NOT paying for marigolds again. So before I rescued the irises, I harvested the marigolds. And I’m excited to see if they come up next year.
But I have to remember to pull them out of the cabinet and put them in the freezer. The seeds.
The thing is that sometimes, when I’m out and about, I see something so amazing I can’t believe it’s not art–like the red of the sumac in fall or the bundles of black and white seeds of the marigold.
I learn some shit out in the yard. And most of it doesn’t translate well into words.
Tiny Cat Pants 
A similar “I’m not paying for these again” led me to do some gardening in the snow earlier this week. Had to dig and repot herbs, harvest the seeds that could be harvested, all in a rush. However, when I brought it all inside, the breathing of the plants in a suddenly warm space made everything smell like Heaven, if Heaven was a potting shed with dense and mingled scents of wet dirt, melting snow, and rosemary.