Now that the weather has changed, my truck has once again turned into a glorified closet. It’s chilly enough in the mornings to need layers. As the day progressively warms, the layers go into the truck cab. I never remember to bring them inside most evenings so by week’s end we have a real situation.

This could be the best week of the year in garden world, what with lilacs, fruit trees blooming and the potential of summer. Aside from deer, nothing is wrecking the new plants yet. The bugs have not arrived, birds are singing and there is still parking in town.

My friend Sharlee grew some strawberries in her hoop house several years ago. She was eating them as the outdoor plants were just beginning to bloom. I copied her and happily ate some berries this week. Granted, they did not make it to the house. I wiped them on my shirt and enjoyed them still warm.

One of my favorite looks are the spent petals of ornamental cherries covering the entire ground under the tree and some blowing around — very pretty.

The wisteria on the pergola at Morrice the Florist is putting on its yearly show. I have one that rarely, if ever, blooms.

I’ve been busy pulling up my re-seeded kale for supper each night. I’m trying to not be overly enthusiastic but honestly there are thousands of the little plants. Why, I wonder, would a person ever need to plant it again? The key is early recognition.

Once I asked Liz Packer at SBS how things were going at the farm. Her reply still tickles me: “Everyone is on the right side of the fence and no one’s bleeding.”

That’s my segue into an animal story this week.

On Patriot’s Day I separated out a broody hen and a little clutch of eggs. Exactly 21 days later she hatched out four adorable babies. The first time I checked on them I heard a constant peeping of a distressed baby. After a long search I found it up to its neck in the waterer.

Fortunately I had a small wood fire burning. I wrapped it in a washcloth, put it in a teacup and left it on the bread warmer of the wood cook stove until it dried and warmed. A happy mother-child reunion resulted.

I start most of my plants from seed but never get around to the tomatoes until the end of April. Hence they are still pretty small — probably three inches tall. I’ve seen some that are over a foot already.

It does not seem to matter, however, since we have such a warm fall here on the Vineyard. I always have plenty to can, give away and enjoy. I never buy them off-season. They lack the appeal of a perfectly ripe, warm heirloom!

My memory bank has had most of its withdrawals. I really hope to recall this coming fall how much I love the camassia, aka Indian hyacinth. I have some blooming right now but they are a full-planted bulb and probably are not available locally right now. They are about two feet tall with a flower similar to bluebells. They add a lot of structure to the mid-spring border.

Rew, Pennsylvania is located in the northwestern part of the state. It’s about the same distance to Buffalo, N.Y. as Woods Hole is to Boston. Tops is a local grocery chain all over the area. Once again we have another national tragedy perpetrated by an angry young white man. The same thing will happen. We will offer thoughts and prayers, talk about mental illness in “lone wolves,” say that the new hashtag is Buffalo strong, and wait for the next one.

It will not get serious until we address the Tucker Carlsons of the world. His alarm about Replacement Theory has been mentioned over 400 times on Fox News.

We completed the childhood taunt differently in our family: “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will hurt forever.”