I can feel the Spring rising inside me, like a creek escaping it's banks. It rears its green little head every time I catch sight of a sparrow snatching the last rosehips from the bush, or the very tips of the daffodils poking through the soil. When I catch a whiff of the maple sap flowing, or hear the symphony of icicles crashing down in thick clusters, Spring reels me in. I love the winter, but towards the end, in the starving times, I get impatient.
Winter overstays her welcome and is the queen of southern goodbyes. Spring arrives quietly, bringing bountiful gifts of pastel colored crocuses and a circus of festivities. As the snow clears, a collective shiver runs down the spine-like ridge of the Appalachians. Suddenly it doesn't feel gray any longer and the ache for solitude is gone. I've rested and restored my introvert batteries and it is time to greet Spring and all her friends.
In the last days of February, the onion set order will arrive with hundreds of little onion plants to start the season off. A hundred pounds of purple and white potatoes, long since sprouted in my hallway will take root under rotted bales of old hay. Seedlings of lettuce, kale, and collards will sprout and get strong in the high tunnel before making their way out into the ground. The smell of rain and dirt will soon be unshakable, and I am so ready.
This year in farm life will be so different, so full. We're leaving our starter farm and moving on to much bigger, better things. I'll be working my dream job of growing food for giving away, helping out on several other farms, establishing new gardens and pastures, and generally building a better life for our family. All of this new growth provides for us in so many ways, whether its through food, exercise, friendships, or education. A year ago I never would have thought we'd be here, so this Spring is extra special.