Testing for “Gang aft agley"

The day lily garden is ready for (re)planting. The old mulch, landscape cloth and dead leaves mix has been cleaned up and hauled off. Additional bulbs(roots?) should arrive tomorrow for the Better Half to enjoy planting on Tuesday, maybe. Meanwhile, I need to decide where the three sisters garden is going to live, till some compost into the sandy soil, create some mounds and plant some corn. Those are the two major spring chores lined up for this week. We’ll see if, come week’s end, they’ve been accomplished or if life has superseded our best laid plans. (Oops, almost forgot, we need to clear the leaves from the north side foundation and spray for ants while the Better Half is gone for the day. That may be tomorrow morning for cleanup and Wednesday for spraying.)

eastern tiger swallowtail(?) on dandelion

Photo by J. Harrington

Still no signs of germination or growth in the reseeded front yard but the back yard is full of dandelions. We’re slowly coming to accept that cleaning up dead branches is as much  a part of our life as cleaning up after our dogs. There were a number of branches in and around the day lily bed that needed collecting. They’ll end up in the fire pit one day this week, weather permitting.

As a reward for good deeds accomplished last week, yesterday afternoon we took one of our fly rods and headed for the back yard to try a few practice casts. The rod in question is an Orvis bamboo blank that I wrapped many, many years ago. In that process, I neglected to note and write down the line weight for which the rod is rated. We’re pretty sure it’s a four or five weight and yesterday we tried a four weight line. It cast fine. Next time we’ll try a five weight just to see and may play around this season to see which we prefer. One of our priorities this summer is to return a sense of play to our life and this is one way we’re starting.

To a Mouse

By Robert Burns

On Turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785.

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,

O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

          Wi’ bickerin brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee

          Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion

Has broken Nature’s social union,

An’ justifies that ill opinion,

          Which makes thee startle,

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,

          An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;

What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!

A daimen-icker in a thrave

          ’S a sma’ request:

I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,

          An’ never miss ’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!

It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!

An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,

          O’ foggage green!

An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,

          Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,

An’ weary Winter comin fast,

An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,

          Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel coulter past

          Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble

Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!

Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,

          But house or hald,

To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,

          An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men

          Gang aft agley,

An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,

          For promis’d joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!

The present only toucheth thee:

But Och! I backward cast my e’e,

          On prospects drear!

An’ forward tho’ I canna see,

          I guess an’ fear!

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