This is the last of the snow in our yard, somewhere around eleven thirty ayem. The Elephant garlic could care less.
Each of Larry's pots, all on the shady side of the block, had a collection of slow-watering snow to melt.
But the tulips were all whatever.
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If I do not respond to your comment right away, it is only because I am busy pulling out buckthorn, creeping charlie, and garlic mustard...