We are in the midst of a very early spring time, and with very little winter this year beneath our belts. I don’t know if it is a frightening trend or a part of the patterns but whatever it may be, I am planting things that usually get into the ground some time around mothers day which is a couple of weeks from now.

I am seeing butterflies, though sadly few, and hummingbirds a plenty. I have yet to see the first brown bear wander down from the mountain, or our resident marmot clint eastwood with his lovely partner sondra locke. I hope they are all just following the schedule and refusing to hasten from their set in stone calendars.

I have hit a stall in my painting schedule, not a halt, but a slow down. I wanted to be finished some things but see my feet dragging. It is, I feel, the consequence of the early spring and gardening season.

Today marigolds, pansies, snapdragons were planted while sunflowers, (squirrel planted) were moved to more fortuitous placements. Lilies are pushing through hardened soil, rose stalks re leafing from their late winter prune. The garden is coming to life. I recently read Monet painted the waterlilies more than 250 times in an effort to feel complete with them. I understand this mania. My desire to continue to photograph dancing grebes and humming birds long after, YEARS after getting a pretty fine shot seems similar in behavior. I think it is because the moment of doing, connects us with the being, and that my friends is as close to perfection as I may ever come. Once it is in the can, (an expression without modern day meaning), it holds less value for me. It is the doing, the being connected that exhilarates and calls me out again and again as long as I can go. Meanwhile, the planting complete, I feel content. Though It will be weeks before the results can be seen, my eyes see them now in their full glory, perhaps the closest they will come to perfect, the thought above the reality. That is, I think, the nature of an artist.