The days of daily garden inspections are here. Sometimes I make an excuse -- that compost bucket on my counter is full again. Sometimes I slip into shoes and make the rounds for no good reason save the pleasure of watching plants grow. I circle slowly past the strawberry bed and the pear tree. I bend to gauge a peony bud. I lift rhubarb leaves and smell future treats. Fiddle heads unfurl. Miss S follows and imitates and dances in the grass. What joy.