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February 18, 2018
A Note from the Farmer's Wife
Once again the view over the farm makes me think of Narnia during the Snow Queen's reign.
Last night I took Mara's new sled and zipped down the steepest hill to the nursery. The snow fell so thick I had to close my eyes and surrender to the thrill of gravity and a slick slope. At the bottom, the nursery gleamed like a beacon through the storm, lit by the grow lights that give our light-dependent seeds a jump start. I couldn't help but wonder if an overhead reconnaissance survey might be drawn to the lit greenhouse, raising questions about what exactly we grow here. I suppose ten thousand onions might be a boring answer to the follow-up investigation, but to us the new green shoots emerging from their planting trays thrill us. Thyme, mint, rosemary, lavender, pansies and other slow growing herbs and flowers have also made their appearance.
When fantasy trips to distant tropical islands remain out of reach, spending time in the nursery on a sunny February day puts a dent in the winter blues. The air is warm, humid and reviving to our parched skin and nasal passages. Potting soil under the finger nails is a happy thing and the time we spend in there as a family, all four of us working with a peaceful rhythm will likely be something the Farmer and I miss when we are empty-nesters.
The forecast tells us that this snow will be short-lived on the ground, with temperatures nearing, or exceeding 70 this week. That means the nursery will brighten up like a green onion lawn before the first of March. The anticipation of spring, and the hint of it in the February air, fragrant with the scent of thawing earth never fails to quicken the heart of the Farmer and get him moving out and about, itching to warm up the tractor and plough. Soon we will have information about our Spring Share available so that you can take advantage of the most delicate early greens and sweet roots of the entire season.
Spring is my favorite; always has been and always will be.
January 15, 2017
By Charis Lindrooth
The farm looks like a cake dusted with confectioners sugar this morning, full of sweet promise. I like to be the first to walk the fields after it snows, but that rarely happens. Inevitably, Max, the Farmer’s Dog, springs ahead sniffing rabbit tracks and gleefully rolling in the frosty powder. More often than not the Farmer, who is an early riser, also beats me to it. Then I have to content myself with following their disruption to the perfect snowfall, or forge my own path in a secret direction.
With 90 acres at my disposal, I am tempted to walk away from the cultivated fields into the woods where my imagination sets flight. As a young girl, snowy woods inspired my belief in magic and I spent long hours with my best friend in our own fantastical realm. Now, even though those younger days are left far in the past, my child-like heart re-awakens. I inhale deeply, catching scents from those long-ago days, the crisp fresh scent of the new snow and the earthy musk of the curled damp bark on the birch trees. The early golden light from the sun creates a magical, snowy palace in my private woods. As a girl I might at this moment have become a princess, imagining a crown bejeweled with bits of sparkling icy crystals. Just as likely, I would have transformed into a small furry animal, a rabbit or a squirrel, and I would have spent hours creating a secret den hidden by boughs of white pine and lined by the soft needles that fell in the autumn.
Now I watch my children step into their own imagination in this incredible farm wonderland. The outdoors is indeed the colossal antidote for January cabin fever.
I treasure this quote from Anne Frank, “The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be."
I am grateful for the beauty of this land and how it feeds us, body and soul.