What If I Said Yes?

I let errands pile up until I have four or five, then drive to town to do them, and yesterday, as the snows melted in the February sun, came an impulse to pick up a takeout salad. Oh, man, how I fought with myself, turning in the direction of the place, then turning away, then turning the car around and back because I could make salad at home. I shouldn't spend the money, because when I'm old and shivering I'll wish I'd saved it . . . But gosh, I can't ever treat myself? And the portions are big enough to make two meals . . . I overthought a Chicken Caesar salad. I wanted it all readymade, with potato chips and a cookie. It's been months since I've had a bag of chips or an oversized greasy coffeehouse cookie.

Thus they were made manifest, bagged, and passed to me through an open window and as the day neared noon and 60 degrees -- a full 60 degrees warmer than the previous week -- I thought it ideal for the year's first picnic. I added a plate of sliced apple and a beer. (Beer: It's not just for breakfast anymore!) My in-laws always know when they visit to bring a case of Wisconsin beer, and because they visit twice a year at most and less so this year, I hoard my beers for special occasions, like the first day of 2021 warm enough for porch dining.

Salud! Then I had a nap.

Muddylicious

Lucky we are to have a man who snowplows our lane, but years of plowing have now entirely scraped the gravel from its unpaved portion -- several hundred yards -- leaving wet clay like mud-colored paint in winter and whenever it rains. No one can leave or enter house or car without splashing mud on pant legs and bootsoles and tracking it all over Creation. Here you see what happens to a just-washed vehicle (fortunately, with four-wheel drive) and how deer and turkey tracks get memorialized. Our lane got a fresh load of gravel about six years ago, and this will be the third year I've been asking the landlord for fresh gravel. It's not a DIY project. Am sending the landlord these photos because polite requests have been ignored. Yes, it could be worse, and it probably will be. Just thank me for sharing, and stock fresh pairs of shoes, socks, and pants for me if you intend to ask me in.

Free Chives

Longing for the sight and taste of greenery this time of year, I am always delighted by the chive patches appearing in the lower, wetter parts of the woods during January thaw. Go find some. Use scissors to clip 'em and scissor them over your squash soup, potato soup, or carrots; sprinkle 'em over your omelets; chew on 'em and blow onion breath to gross-out your best friend, dig up a clump to plant in the herb garden. Keep clipping and using your chives or the plant overgrows and gets grassy.