Killing me softly

So much for optimism. Several weeks ago, in the bout of junior year abroad weather that hit Sandisfield for 22 blissful days, little Beaver happily went about planting a bunch of different vegetables and herbs with hope in her heart and spring in her step. But spring has sprung...quite literally. It's hopped away like a Jack Rabbit with a precious gift tied atop his pom-pom tail. It snowed today, dear readers, and snow isn't good for infant seedlings. As the wind hushes and gushes through the rafters, the clouds collide and whisper hurtful things. You planted things too soon, little Beaver, old man frost is on its way! A silent call goes out to the small things: gerbils and bunnies and chipmunks and moles, please come and sit down on my seedlings! Warm them with your pinto-bean sized hearts and hope that they are brave enough to make it through the night!

Summer reading list

Beaver has set herself a little summer reading challenge: to read the 100 Best Novels compiled by the Modern Library. The problem is, her local library doesn't have a cornucopia of "classics". They do, however, have a nice-as-pie librarian willing to take and place special orders. While Beaver waits for her first four titles to come in, she is kicking off the season with a page turner:
Let the summer games begin!
Update: This book was so important and timely, La Beav finished it in five hours. For anyone who is worried about gas, about rents, about the provenance of their next paycheck or simply wondering how the heck everyone else is making it-- they just might not be. Although this book has been out for a while, there might be no better time to read it than now.

Grow, seedling, grow

Siberian Kale, Japanese pickling eggplants, the hottest red chilies, fingerling potatoes and heirloom black Russian tomatoes....just to name a few. From her second-story perch in the little red house, Beaver looks out at the first rain of Spring, as roots stretch and yawn, and shake out the kinks. Will the little planted seeds grown into something wonderful? Or will her lack of a little green claw dash out all hopes of a harvest? She chews on sweet birch and watches the rain. Pour que ça marche, pour que ça pousse!