Last week’s big snow left the ground covered everywhere. As it warmed, the roads were clear and an incredible fog arose as the snow began to release its moisture into the warming air.

Then this week’s rain and more warmth created remarkable amounts of mud. As I made my way into the chicken yard to retrieve eggs, and feed and water the hens, I had a horrible thought. At my advanced age, when the footing becomes unstable, falls are on my mind. My 90-year old mother died as a result of a fall.

In the chicken yard, ankle deep in mud and poo, is not where I’d like to spend my last day on the planet.

So I hobbled around to the pile of hay and spread a few bales in the paths. Hopefully it will solve the problem — or at least leave me feeling smug.

Speaking of smug, I just fixed myself a wonderful soup with all of my own vegetables, either stored or frozen, and some soaked, dried lima beans. The bean was a pole variety called king of the garden. It’s an heirloom and does not produce a large quantity of pods, sadly. However, it is very flavorful and the individual bean is very big. As a child we ate succotash. It was corn, lima beans and carrots. My brother and I picked out the lima beans and tried to hide them in our napkins. Only as an adult when I grew my own did I learn to like them.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned birds eating the winter berries during the storm. I discovered that they also ate the seeds of broom corn and sorghum that I had in an outdoor ornamental pot. I was glad I had yet to take the pot apart. Neglecting a task paid off for the wildlife.

I seldom make flower arrangements for the house. In February, however, I’m a sucker for tulips. Just as I was about to go to Tulip Tuesday at Morrice the Florist, my friend Fala dropped off a bunch. I put them into a nice vase alongside some forsythia twigs. Spring is about to happen in my kitchen.

I’ve been whining about my lack of gumption of late. While at Ghost Island Farm recently, I noticed a magic eight ball on the counter. I asked it if I’m ever going to get back to work. It answered “very likely,” so I feel much better. At least it didn’t say “reply hazy — try again later.”

I have been dismayed to see the number of discarded masks in parking lots and along roadsides. My friend Sharlee mistakenly washed one of the N95s. It turned out perfectly clean and intact. Good to know both for saving money and putting less waste on our poor earth.

I see where mask wearing is no longer mandatory in many places. I cannot see the problem with wearing one in crowded indoor places. Granted, they are less than comfortable. But honestly, we are a culture of crybabies.

Speaking of crybabies, how about our former president? It’s becoming increasingly tiresome to re-litigate the 2020 election. My favorite story this week is his tearing up of many official documents. Imagine having a job of scotch-taping pieces of paper retrieved from the floor and wastebasket of the president of the United States.

This is the same man who carried on endlessly about Hilary Clinton’s emails.

Apparently he was asked repeatedly to stop but ignored it. He always does as he pleases.

My three-year-old, great grandson might repeat bad behavior twice but is then capable of heeding admonishment.