March Twenty-Nineth
The farm comes alive again slowly, quietly, almost secretly. The hive hums when the sun shines. The greenhouse doors fling open to release the excess heat. The chickens lay eggs again and the children think that since it is officially Spring, they can dare to walk outside without coats or hats. The seeds are germinating in the plastic hoop structure that smells of earth and wood smoke and feels moist and invigorating.
We are nearly one month in to the start of a new season. Plans to begin field work form and the machines are greased and ready to go. The farm help is lined up and the CSA memberships are steadily coming in. The winds blow strong and make the willow tree dance. We are longing for fresh, tender, green food again and the promise that it is not far away feels reassuring.
The farm wife, as I am calling myself these days, feels especially cooped up from keeping three small children warm, healthy and entertained. I do everything I can to care for needs of the people and the farm in the role I am currently playing. I look out the window and watch Adam go to work most days wishing I could follow. But I also feel grateful to get to work from home and get to spend so much time with my children. I remind myself that this is an era of our lives that will one day feel like it didn’t last long enough, but at present feels slow and binding on a late March day.
I raise a three month old and watch him try to kick himself over onto his tummy. I watch my 6 year old learn to count money and read books and add numbers. Our farm house feels a little like a kindergarten when you walk in, but smells like a restaurant. I watch my 3 year old copy everything her big sister does. I watch the robins return and the maple sap drip. I suggest and insist on projects that Adam and hired help can work on. My involvement with the farm feels like it is at a mosey-posey pace with a baby on my back and a toddler tagging along. I support Adam in every way possible to keep him well fed, rested and focused on farm work.
Again I need to remind myself that this is just a stage and one day our children will help seed in the greenhouse. They will one day help make dinner and fold laundry and shake rugs out and bring wood in. One day I will want nothing more than to have them fit cozily on my lap again and to read them a picture book. My body will ache from working on the farm and I’ll wish for a slower pace of life.
Meanwhile the earth tilts toward the sun and warms our landscape. The mornings on the farm are no longer quite. The sounds of those noisy birds are back and hungry animals hustle all around. The lawns looks almost green in places. We seed lettuce this week in the greenhouse which is just four weeks until transplant in the fields. The greenhouse tables are getting full and we are beginning to need to shuffle flats around to make room for all of the seedings coming up. I share the girlish excitement with our little ones for the dawning of a new season. I feel excited for the workers to come back and breathe community into our little farm. I feel optimistic and I whistle and sing as I walk around the farm with the children doing chores and keeping home. Spring time has a way of making you feel young again.
Farmer Adam came home with a brand spankin’ new disc today (a primary tillage piece of equipment) that will make our field prepping work smooth and even a little fun! We’re just a few short weeks away from seeding and transplanting out into the big wide open spaces. Birds fill the trees and the sonic spaces. Soon the sounds of diesel engines and people’s voices will fill our farm. And before long, as a result of this glorious community effort and will, there will be eclectic and bounteous boxes of vegetables harvested from the earth here. We look forward to sharing this season with you!
