Spring Plant.

Sometime in MAY///

After hanging about ominously for a large part of the day, the clouds have finally let loose. The rain has been pouring down in torrents; the pounders are getting pounded. They will be home soon. Thankfully, I know what these wet through souls do not - there is roast beef to be smothered in gravy, yams and cheesecake awaiting them. A feast lies just ahead.

In thinking about what to write, I have been hesitant. Not wanting, afraid even, to repeat myself. Afraid of boring you. But, the truth is, there are things that happen out here every year. Each year, I eagerly await the first buds and as they unfurl, I glory in their new, fresh, almost neon green. Entire hillsides covered in those tender new leaves. From the end of winter to spring to summer, much changes and it is far too easy to miss. Each year, planters go from strangers to familiar faces. Each year, we wake up early and stay awake until the sun goes down. The light and weather are my going concerns.

This year has begun well, though a spate of injuries has kept our first aid attendants busy. I can't help comparing planting to high school. 4 years, rites of passage, bonding over embarrassing moments and telling stories of people that have come and gone. It is strange to think back to the beginning. Strange to think of the things were unknown and intimidating that are now a part of my daily routine, barely causing a ripple.  

The propane heater in the dry tent needs to be started - wool socks and dripping sweaters and drenched jackets will soon cover the twine clotheslines hanging in big yellow. And most importantly, boots! Wet boots guarantee misery. I need to go put on Tim's too big rain jacket and get things ready, looking voluminous in steel blue. C'est la vie - one the best things about planting is that how one looks is much lower on the list of priorities. Dirt for makeup, sweat for glow.