eggs again

The chickens are finally laying again. We had such a mild winter and yet, from November or so until just this past week, nothing. And now. EGGS. Every day. And now I need to eat eggs again, every day.

Ah, the seasons of country life. It is seed starting season. Little sprouts, in the windowsill fighting through the mucky soil, not ideal amount of sunlight, trying, trying, to make it.

My mom, a veteran gardener of decades has a grow light set up in her basement. Her tomato plants look beautiful.

I just wrote that. Beautiful tomato plants. Ten years ago I would’ve called a handbag beautiful, sure, shoes, yes.

Not tomato plants.

Certainly not eggs.

The seasons of life, eh?

Once again we are planning our garden for here, in this rented little slice of country, pines out back, little chicken shed, enough, technically, but not enough, at the same time. I am yearning for a little riverside farm, with old beds of perennials and a couple of apple trees, a quiet field, some pines, and lots of hardwoods, next to a pond, where we will build my writing yurt, and a little red barn with a small fenced pasture, perfect for a couple of goats.

And once, again, not yet. Not this summer. Maybe next fall.

I feel like I have been telling myself, not yet, not yet, for so long, one would think I would be used to it. This not yet feels hard though, harder than the rest. Perhaps is the impending age I will be turning in a bit over a year. You know. One of THOSE birthdays. And I want everything figured out. And the dream farm, there, behind the kitchen screen door. And a book at the publishers. And a contract to write more. And a little non-profit that lets me travel around, doing a bit of good, here and there.

These are fairly modest requests. I mean, not the freaking moon, right?

Oh universe. When?

But not yet.

And so instead. I gather the eggs. Because the hens are laying again. And the soft brown is such a lovely color, and the yolks so rich and orange.

And I am rich too, really, in this little tiny house by the pines.

a long winter.

It was a long winter for us. Not in the weather sense really. Last year we had snow from October to April. This year we didn’t have much cover until December, January really, and then as I type, here on March 10, nearly all the snow is gone and my children are outside in shorts (it is 60 degrees, after all. HA)

No, but is was long all the same. A tough time for many reasons, as happens in life sometimes.

But it feels now, like the withered grass and the drooping dead peony leaves and the old fern stems standing like sentries in the hollow in the woods, like, maybe, finally, things are beginning to take root, and maybe finally, green things will be coming.

Like, maybe this really is it.

Spring. A new season of hope.

And it may snow again. There may be hard days ahead. But today it’s blue skies and sunshine.

And I’ll take it.

springing forth

And really, that is how life feels, especially today, as the sun beats down, the wasps begin circling, mosquitoes whining in our ears, birds fighting in midair jays chasing away the loud crows squawking and crying out in fury, the air is full of heat and damp and earth and swirling pollen and after a few hours in the sweaty garden we retreat indoors, to iced coffee and potato salad and air conditioning, our bodies and spirits a little shell shocked after the winter we have endured.

It is summer. Well, not technically, but it is.

The garden is full of new things, popping up daily. We have nearly finished planting, digging a few new boxes in this year, spreading straw to try and help our sandy soil retain more moisture. Seeds planted now around the bean pole teepees, some sunflowers planted along the fence lines for color. A garden must be pretty. Its lots of work, and sure, the food is good, but while we wait a month to enjoy any kind of harvest (maybe a few weeks for some greens!) for now, its got to be a thing of beauty to behold, my requirement for all that work. Zinnias, sunflowers, nasturtiums and marigolds are my necessary garden flowers. I planted a few calendula too this year. Plus a giant gerber daisy right in the middle of the herb bed. Although I’m not sure if I like its placement or not, perhaps a little too ooo la la for my tastes.

We are doing things somewhat differently this year, trying to learn from our past mistakes, as one is supposed to do. I started by making a concerted effort to read plant directions on seed packets. As someone who rarely follows recipes and never sews with a pattern, this is a big deal for me. I’ve even asked about planting the seedlings as I buy them. The lady at the farmers market tells me, yea, you have to plant more than one squash, pumpkin, etc together in a mound, otherwise they won’t pollinate properly to produce fruit. Oh. Really? Huh. THAT might explain why I had beautiful vines last year, and NO SQUASH.

We’ve also planted the tomatoes all in the back of the garden, where they get he most sun, and I plan on dousing with an Epsom salt fertilizer soon. We also planted the watermelon as far away from the cucumber as possible (last year we had terrible tasting “cucumelon” because they cross-pollinate, apparently!) We laid down straw throughout the garden, between boxes, against the fence, hoping we will do less maintenance over the summer because of it.

And then, mostly, more. More onions dotted here and there, more squares of greens, more rows of beans around the teepees, more patches of carrots, more potatoes, more rows of corn in one big patch (last year we had a few scraggly plants in two long rows, yea, says a gardening friend, corn wont pollinate unless you have several rows together, IE, doesn’t everyone know that? Not this “country girl!”)

And so, we wait, and for now, we enjoy the green, the pollen, the bird squawks, the claps of thunder as a storm moves in, windows open to the rain, letting in the breeze at last.

 

Below is peppermint that survived the winter (hurrah!) we are BOTH brutal winter survivors!

this is cilantro that RESEEDED ITSELF. I was so impressed when I noticed!

Giant grapevine wattled fence potato bed. I’m rather proud of this one. Mad homesteader skillz, I tell you.

Garlic shoots!! Planted last fall! They survived our crazy -50 winter!

Parsnips that wintered over too!

Our newly doubled in size full sun tomato boxes.

under all that white

piles of white
everywhere
bits of ice, blowing
snowdrifts, growing
a path stomped out to the coop
I follow it
the frozen world underneath
curled ferns, dead now
sleeping moss, frozen
above, priestesses of the sky
the trees
carry the weight
of ice and snow
holding up their limbs, proudly
not giving way
and yet they sway,
heavily in the winds that set in after the storm
we light a fire
feed the flame every hour
fighting back the cold
fighting to keep our heads
in the game
of winter
the sun shines so brightly in the blue Midwestern sky
but not warmly
it is taunting
beckoning
a harsh lover
yet welcome
as I sit in its rays
under blankets
sipping coffee
waiting for the world to come alive
again.
And it will.