IN OUR garden it is blossom time among the fruit trees, while tulips and daffodils go gloriously berserk.
Even the bluebells are modestly opening.
In our orchard it is the startlingly white blossoms of the nashi fruit trees that stand out most clearly.
Perhaps these enchanting displays were due to the persistent rain we've received over the past month.
Even those neglected corners where thick, bright-green, waist-high grass has started to dominate, it still squelches underfoot after every shower.
In parts of the saturated vegetable patch, pools of water lie in every rut and the so-called drainage channels have become canals.
We're still glad of the rain, which is the best for several years.
Everywhere in our part of Tasmania's Tamar Valley, farm dams overflow while deepening gutters on both sides of quiet, rural roads are now powerful streams.
We had almost forgotten how wet things could be.
I even love the musical concert that now continues day and night from hundreds of very happy but totally invisible banjo frogs.
I'm still planting furiously.
When I spotted some volunteer potato plants sprouting from the bog, which was last year's potato patch, I became inspired.
So working from solid ground at the side of a new bed, I've been reaching out with a long-handled hoe to hack out wet holes in a new bed.
Into each went an entire seed potato - certified of course.
It is only those potatoes we cut into pieces that rot easily in wet ground.
I've scraped some saturated vegetable garden soil into ridges too, so pea seeds could be sown along the tops.
Little mounds have also been created so desperately needed cabbage, cauliflower; broccoli and kale seedlings can go into these perfectly drained, raised blobs.
All leafy vegetables thrive as days lengthen and the soil warms.
And the great news is that no matter how much it continues to rain from now on, the rate of evaporation will be able to keep pace.
However, things are not worry free.
I'm looking at that long grass and weed growth, knowing that it only takes three days of very hot, windy weather for this lush, moist mass to be converted into a bone-dry, deadly fire menace.
I'll get into it with a brush-cutter, slicing everything off to soil level.
If this job can be done before seeds form I'll have some fantastic composting material.
I do have one little garden worry.
It's about our resident snake.
A copperhead, it has been around for years and appears to be no longer afraid of us. That's the worry.
It spends winter in a gap beneath a concrete slab on which a garden shed stands, a bit too close to the house.
I don't believe in killing snakes - but this one has attacked me twice.
Once it struck at my boots before wriggling off at high speed.
Unfortunately the bloomin' thing loves to bask in the sun on a grassy pathway and is very hard to see.
Last year it suddenly reared up and struck at my thigh.
It was like being violently punched. I'm glad I had my hands in my pockets and wear thick hemp trousers.
Then it bit our cat. Unlike dogs, a cat can get over a snake bite.
The poor thing slept for days.
Occasionally I gave her a sympathetic stroke causing her to open her eyes.
They remained massively dilated for about a week.
As for the snake, I don't quite know what to do.
I've called in the local snake-catcher twice, but lowland copperheads are extremely good at hiding.
They are quite deaf, have poor eyesight, but are highly sensitive to the slightest movement.
One thing is certain. It is long, thick trousers and big boots for us over the coming summer.
