First, a visitor said he had sowed lettuce seeds. Then I read a notice of a coming plant sale. Mary said that behind the little garden seat the house leek (Frog's Tongue) was up, looking like a cluster of little cabbage heads.

Hey, I thought, time, which seemed to pause for long periods during the cold days, was moving right along.

I had been noticing the different slant of the sunbeams, coming so freely through my east windows. They are now touching the hands of the wall clock at 7 a.m.

I had failed to move my little glass bluebird along the windowsill so that its shadow moved along, somewhat like a sundial. It was about an eighth of an inch behind at 7 a.m.

I haven't received any seed catalogs yet because I haven't ordered any seeds for several years. But I do have this year's Farmer's Almanac. It makes good seasonal reading. On the day I consulted it, it said that the sun would rise at 6:35 a.m. Where, I wondered? But I supposed it had something to do with Greenwich Mean Time. What's 25 minutes, so long as the rising sunbeams touch my bluebird and clock hands?

My fingers, crooked and painful, ache further to feel some soil, other than that in the indoor flower pots.

I remembered the big container on the front porch in which I've been raising a tomato plant for several years. So I went immediately to check it out.

The rich soil was soft, moist and cold. Without any form of gloves, I reached deep into it, feeling my fingernails fill up.

There were some little green plants on top of the soil. Could they be little tomato plants, coming up from some fallen tomato? Naw, I said. Too cold for them. Nevertheless, I rubbed some between my fingers. The smell was familiar but I couldn't place it. I brought some in the house and put it under the magnifying glass. Tiny green leaves with what appeared to be the beginning of a miniature white flower could be seen. "The indomitable chickweed," I told a nearby robin that was looking at me quizzically. "How did it get up the porch and into this container?" The robin, not speaking humanese, flitted away, unconcerned.

While cleaning my fingernails I thought, why not lettuce instead of a tomato?

My next outing will be to the garden center to pick up a package of Black Seeded Simpson. Not only to purchase the seeds but to inhale the good earthy smell of onion sets and cabbage plants. I'll fondle the sets so that the good springtime odor will rub off on my hands and last a long time. But foremost of my garden center visit will be the pleasure of mingling with other people who love the soil and seeing seeds sprout and grow into food.

I'll probably get eight or 10 servings from my container. Hot bacon grease, a tad of sugar, salt, vinegar poured over the crisp leaves will rid the winter menu of the doldrums.

I know there are all kinds of other lettuce, but for me it is Black Seeded Simpson. Maybe a hoecake and some fried potatoes! I'm trying to recover some lost weight.

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.