When I lived in California February was spring. The trees would start leafing out, the sun would break through the fog and riding my bike everywhere would become a pleasure instead of a chore. But here, even in this, the kindest Vermont winter I've known, the rock hard ground has not yet begun to dream spring. Tree tapping and sap boiling are weeks away. It is still cold howling wind, build a fire, water's froze, chores in the snow. I open the door for the chickens on a nice(er) day and they peek out cautiously before the bravest barred rocks hop out. When I return with the thawed waterer, everyone is back in the house. The sun is out today but the forecast this week calls for snow, snow, and more snow.
And yet, hope springs eternal. My neighbor with the large vegetable farm has started his tomato plants. They are 2 inches high under the grow lights, a promise that someday it will be warm enough (in the green houses) for tomatoes. There is the upcoming trip to Newport for the syrup jugs. The seed catalogs and grazing plans and the endless possibilities of the upcoming season fill the evenings. The to do list looms long in my day planner. -buy asparagus crowns, strawberry plants, weed mat, -find fence tester, -work on lucky's cart, -call farmer's market manager and of course, WORK THE TEAM.
I know that just when it seems like spring will never come, the snow starts to soften, the sap starts to run and the race towards fall begins.
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