Spring came back to the garden in April, the way it always did, with the particular, unhurried confidence of something that had been here before and intended to be here again and had no interest in making anything of it beyond simply arriving.Killian was in the beds at seven on a Saturday morning, the specific, early quality of someone who had been waiting for the season to turn sufficiently that there was real work to be done, and who had been watching the garden through the winter with the patient, attentive love of someone for whom absence was not absence but simply the part of the cycle that made the return possible.Eli was with him, as he always was on Saturday mornings, notebook in hand, the longitudinal study now in its ninth year, the emergence data building into something that Dr. Marchetti had described, in their most recent exchange, as potentially the most comprehensive amateur phenological record in the country for this specific garden ecosystem.He was eleven now, and
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