I’ve said many times how I dislike working outside in the wind. What is really aggravating is putting up with it at the beginning of the week and hearing the forecasters calling it breezy. We apparently define words differently.

I’m learning to accept and even love some of my weeds. For example, I’ve had wild ajuga escape the beds and is now growing happily in the gravel driveway. There is a cultivar to be purchased called chocolate chip. It’s a very nice ground cover.

Now that the vinca flowers have begun to fade there is a replacement in the beds. Known as ground-creeping speedwell, it is a Veronica. I do not know the actual name of mine but have always called it grandmother’s eyes. It, too, has crept into the driveway.

About to bloom are the giant alliums. They are very stately in a garden and last quite a while. The spent blossoms can be popped into a dried arrangement for winter. Their only drawback is that the leaves always turn an unattractive brown way before bloom happens. I think they actually are subject to freezing.

I may be off in my timing but it never hurts to sprinkle some lime around the lilacs.

The ground phlox are heading into their third week of looking good. Abby Burt has a nice border of them on Skiff avenue.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I saw a brand-new display of tent caterpillars on the West Tisbury-Edgartown Road. In the past, I’ve squirted them with white vinegar with some luck. We’re talking a good drenching. Trust me: walk away, you don’t want to watch.

For years I’ve planted peas on heavy duty cement construction wire held up by rebar. This year I have weed mat between the rows. It has become a hotel for voles, so much so it feels like walking on marshmallows. It’s so worrisome I’ve decided to put the peas elsewhere.

This has involved some gyrations on my part. Between bamboo stakes, baling twine, my mother’s leftover yarn and random twigs, the end result is pretty ridiculous. Hopefully the plants will have enough support to last until the Fourth of July when most of them should be ready to eat.

I watched a video of an elderly Ukrainian woman with a walking stick poking around the charred remains of her garden and chicken yard. All has been lost and certainly there will be no planting for her this spring.

I hope it is forever embedded in my mind so the next time I whine about too much to do or some pest to destroy, I will take pause.

Sometimes it’s difficult to imagine that the human spirit somehow manages to soldier on.

Personal news for me this week: I caught some sort of upper respiratory sickness. (Tested repeatedly; not Covid.) Nevertheless I spent an entire day in bed. The last time I did that was in childbirth for my 44-year old son. I was forced into a lot of compassion for Covid sufferers.

Lucky for me, I applied my mother’s advice to the sick (she was a terrible nurse): “Get up and do something. You’ll feel better.”