As of this afternoon we have sown the first seeds of the 2015 growing season. The allium seeding (onions, leeks, scallions) is always the first of the season, as these seeds are hearty enough to wait out the last cold days of winter and germinate as soon as they decide conditions are right. So we donned our snowshoes, and armed ourselves with ice pick, shovels, and seeds, and made our way out across the white expanse of our yard.
Inside the greenhouse on a day like yesterday, with the sun shining down, you’d think that Spring was in full effect: the smell of earth, the magnified warmth of the sun, baby spinach plants waking up, the two of us in t-shirts counting out seeds in our palms. Seeing insects crawling around is always a delightful surprise in the early Spring when it’s been long enough to forget all about their existence.
The first days seeding are always particularly poignant as we reconnect with the physical, tangible work of farming. “Giddy” comes to mind.
Winters that linger as long as this one has tend to generate a kind of identity crisis in me. It’s been so long since I was dirty and strong and tired and productive enough to really feel like a farmer, that part of me wonders if I still am. I think this is also a symptom of my relative newness to the occupation. Heck, our first 2 seasons I had a hard time referring to myself as a farmer when asked what I did for a living! Somehow it seems that there should be a certain waiting period before one is fully integrated into such an age-old profession. At any rate, these first days working with our hands, ruining our first pair of pants of the season, are always very, very welcome.