Our house must have the neighbors wondering if a grow-op has moved in. Every available windowsill has weird lights and earnest little seedlings poking their way upwards. Gardeners are artists and I suppose many if not most artists are gardeners. Like viewing a blank canvas, the eyes of an artist/gardener see ahead to the coming splashings of color and design, balance, and composition beyond the monochrome browns of winter detritus. It’s a season when time itself seems to speed up when we wish for more hours in the day to dig, lime, manure, build a wall, a compost bin, fence out the deer, and a myriad other pleasant preparatory putterings. I have my eye on two poplars in our new space, just the right distance apart for a hammock, so as not to be too busy to miss the coming show.