Henry van Dyke penned words to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, Ode to Joy. The first line of verse four reads: “Mortals, join the mighty chorus which the morning stars began.”

This came to mind both Monday and Tuesday mornings when the brand new spring revealed itself. Folks were out and about — biking, raking yards, sitting with their faces to the sun. And my personal favorite — a man in a small cart pulled by a cow was making his way down the bike path along the Vineyard Haven/Edgartown Road.

The entire world needs spring this year. My early Species crocuses were awash with honey bees on Tuesday afternoon. I wonder whose they are? I know they can travel several miles.

A few weeks ago there was an article in this paper about crows. Recently, I passed a fresh road kill barely recognizable by its forensics. By mid-day the crows did their work with only some tufts of fur remaining.

My helleborus are blooming, with the possibility of more color to come.

I’ve been busy seeding and transplanting in the greenhouse. I put several packages of peas into large plug trays. I like to grow all three varieties — sugar snaps, shells, and old fashioned snow peas. Years ago, I began planting them indoors rather than directly seeing them into the garden. The aforementioned crows, while admirable on many levels, would rip every newly germinated seed out of the ground. Now, I have to contend with a bunny who loves the plant as well. He lives in the garden under the shed. I followed footprints in the snow this winter. A young working hound dog would be nice. Mine is so old now she only sleeps and eats.

I actually got into the garden, spade in hand, to prepare an area to receive some baby onions. The amount of wild morning glory roots was astounding. It’s a losing battle yet somehow oddly comforting. Just to be outside in the dirt was its own reward.

I confess, by day’s end I collapsed, head in hand, and wondered how it all gets done. One thing I like about myself is my ability to soldier on.

My Uncle Bob was an Air Force officer who flew missions in Vietnam from 1962 until 1972. I collected dolls as a young girl. He brought me a little handmade Vietnamese peasant doll with rice paper clothing and a baby on her back. This was very early in the conflict. Years later he brought me another one. This time the doll was dressed (how can I say this nicely) like a lady of the night.

Stay with me here. I thought about these two little dolls during the news coverage of the horrible mass shootings at the spas in Atlanta. Race and gender issues in the white supremacy state of our union right now is frightening to say the very least.

It is easier to buy a gun than it is to vote in America. The perpetrator purchased his weapon that very day. Have mercy.