"Anyone who thinks gardening begins in the spring and ends in the fall is missing the best part of the whole year; for gardening begins in January with the dream." Josephine Neuse
As I sat tucked inside a cozy restaurant, I had a view through the windows of snow sifting down like powdered sugar. It started this morning and had yet to cease. I overheard several weather reports from fellow diners. There will be no let up.
The next day snow lay thick on fences and bare tree limbs, but after a few short hours, the sun broke through and I went out to shovel the driveway. A flash of brilliant orange caught my attention. Several plump robins flocked our neighborhood. They perched in our trees, and pecked shriveled crab apples off of branches. Their calls back and forth seemed to sing, "Courage, winter's days are numbered. and her grip is slipping."
Naturally, it felt right to plot out this year's garden. It's planting a small flag of hope on this deep winter day. In a few short moons, there will be warmth and the turning of soft, black earth. There will be fat worms and seed packets scattered in beds as the plotting begins. There will be new garden gloves, quickly discarded and lying limp, useless. Every year I buy myself a colorful pair, and every year I prefer my hands bare. There will be peonies, tulips, lavender, and St. John's Wort. There will be tomatoes, sugar snap peas, zucchinis, carrots, basil, basil, and more basil. There will be the hiss of the sprinkler, the warmth of a fire pit, and the aroma of barbecue. There will be spring.
For today, the glimpse of the robins and the warmth of the dream of the garden is enough.