I knew it was risky. That I was probably jumping in too soon. That I could lose everything. But I couldn’t help myself. I absolutely positively had to plant something.

We topped eighty degrees in the Twin Cities on Sunday. There’s snow in the May Day forecast. Sigh.

I tried to stop myself, but late in that sunny afternoon, I broke. I grabbed my keys, jumped in my truck and drove straight down the street to the garden store.

Two giant bags of potting soil and a cardboard box full of plants lately, I was in the backyard, hands covered with gardening gloves for the first time in more than half a year, digging in dirt.

I was sweating. And squinting. And oh-so-happy.

I planted kale and lettuce. Rosemary. Sage. Purple basil and lime thyme. All in pots.

And I learned a valuable lesson: watch your plants carefully when you have three constantly snacking hens living in your midst.

I turned my back for a minute and Roz decimated the tops of my young arugula plant. I guess she enjoys the peppery greens as much as I do. Needless to say, that pot moved to the front yard.

I ended the day covered in a fine mist of dirt, pulling small sticks from my hair (how does that always happen?) and a slight sunburn. Now, let’s just hope my transplants survive a few flurries tomorrow. In May. Again: sigh.