It is hard to imagine. Under the weight of heavy thick snow, grass mulch, and three inches of amended soil lies the seed of the rocambole garlic. They tried to sprout in the delayed winter weather of November but now they rest, stretching out their roots deep into the nutrients, gaining energy.
Next to them lies nine rows of strawberries. They too are buried under seven inches of snow and three to four inches of grass mulch. Only the rounded mounds and row markers give any hint that there is something there. Waiting. Anticipating. Yet growing, reaching, and increasing in vigor.
In the distance the pole bean fence stands abandoned. Frost and snow envelope it. Mounds of last minute horse manure lie scattered throughout the field. Even the stalks of the long gone sunflowers stand as if on guard.
It is this time of year when the brrrr-cold of winter buries all remnants of growth and I have finally caught up on rest.... the sun rises reluctantly, the skies remain gray, and the setting sun dips with long streaks of pink and orange. It has been awhile since I heard the hoot of the owl, the cry of the coyote, or the buzz of the bee.
Yet I know spring arrives in just a few short months.
So I plan for the next season, pick and chose seeds and plants, dream about where I might plant and harvest. Set up spread sheets and goals. Order from my favorite seed companies. I will be starting the tomatoes, peppers, and basil in mid February. Early? Perhaps not.
We may be getting a high tunnel hoop house courtesy of the USDA. If granted, I can start these plants under the warmth of the tunnel two months earlier. Wouldn't that be amazing? Stay tuned.
Until then.... I'll gaze back over the field thankful for its gifts. Both of plenty and of rest.
