Some years ago, I used to watch a television program called "Northern Exposure." I have recently remembered a certain episode where, in this remote town in Alaska, at the tail end of winter, everyone was waiting for the ice to break. The whole town was acting nutty, with complete personality shifts and odd, uncharacteristic behavior. It was as though all the tension built into the ice over the winter was carrying over to the people in the town, and spilling over into their daily lives. Once the ice "broke," everyone and everything returned to normal.
This winter's end feels much like that to me. The whole month of March felt off-center, unbalanced, shifted somehow. Even though the usual signs of spring were there, from the sun coming in my kitchen window, to the dawn call of a robin, to the slightly warmer temperatures, the tension was still there. The students at school are twitchy and oversensitive, like battle-scarred warriors. I can't seem to get anything done, and it feels like I am walking in circles all day, bumping into invisible walls. The slightest setback feels overwhelming.
But I started parsley seed anyway, and it has sprouted. Yesterday I turned on the heater in the greenhouse, and filled hundreds of little pots with soil in preparation for more seed planting. Today I started the early lettuces and some chard. Tomorrow, tomatoes, the next day, herbs and flowers. Scott and Alex have been repairing fences, and finishing up the ram's new pen for his summer quarters. I uncovered the garlic to find many have sprouted already.
Last night we got a dusting of snow, and the temperature was 18 degrees when I got up this morning. But I know that the ice is about to crack, and in a rush of spring fever, everything will be back to normal again.
This winter's end feels much like that to me. The whole month of March felt off-center, unbalanced, shifted somehow. Even though the usual signs of spring were there, from the sun coming in my kitchen window, to the dawn call of a robin, to the slightly warmer temperatures, the tension was still there. The students at school are twitchy and oversensitive, like battle-scarred warriors. I can't seem to get anything done, and it feels like I am walking in circles all day, bumping into invisible walls. The slightest setback feels overwhelming.
But I started parsley seed anyway, and it has sprouted. Yesterday I turned on the heater in the greenhouse, and filled hundreds of little pots with soil in preparation for more seed planting. Today I started the early lettuces and some chard. Tomorrow, tomatoes, the next day, herbs and flowers. Scott and Alex have been repairing fences, and finishing up the ram's new pen for his summer quarters. I uncovered the garlic to find many have sprouted already.
Last night we got a dusting of snow, and the temperature was 18 degrees when I got up this morning. But I know that the ice is about to crack, and in a rush of spring fever, everything will be back to normal again.