The perennials are emerging from hibernation. The tulips are standing up straight and tall. And the ranunculus are sending up buds.
We transplanted a record number of snapdragons this afternoon… after a morning of filling another bed with spring flower transplants. Calendula, ammi, artemesia, feverfew, cerinthe, statice. The soil feels great. My fingers are dirty and crusty and dry. My nails are snaggy and ragged. Physical evidence of a good day.
We carefully watched the weather this week and miraculously fit in a fantastic day of salad planting on Wednesday. The soil had dried out enough from the blanket of snow and weekend of rain, and we had just enough time before the funny stuff began to fall again on Thursday to seed the first bed of outside greens.
Bert runs a cultivating tool through the bed a few times with the tractor to loosen up all those rocks and weeds. Then we shape it a little, pulling out as many of those clumps of chickweed and stones as can stand. Lines are made using the triangle hoes. Dripline is laid. (We recruited help at this point.)
Lettuce, mustard, and arugula seeds were sprinkled in, and then the spigot was turned on. The sound of water filling the irrigation tape is a most magical thing. And that particular afternoon as the hour grew late, the light hit the drips of water just right to make it look like strings of Christmas lights down the soil.
The forecast looks bleak today. In addition to having to cancel our trip to town for construction supplies, we’re getting a bit worried about the ice. If we lose power, we lose heat. Not at the house but at the seedhouse where our tiny babies are slowly, slowly growing… living for the day when they can be transplanted into the spring soil. There is a woodstove there as backup and supplemental heat, but it’s looking like someone will need to sleep next to that woodstove to keep it going throughout the night. Just in case an ice-laden branch takes down a power line.
That someone will be me. It’s my turn. I’m also sitting snug at the computer while Bert is out moving wood and working on the cabinets at the intern cabin. Seems fair.
And so I’ll do a little greenhouse camping. I’ll bring three sleeping bags for maximum comfort and set the alarm for every two hours to stuff logs in the stove. Let’s hope for minimal snow so there is no mid-night clearing of accumulation off all the hoophouses. That’s enough of a physical workout during daylight hours.
For the moment, I’ll be living it up with another cup of coffee and my slippers writing romantic descriptions of what will be blooming in June. Ah, June.
This is what things look like out here. We slog down to the farm four or five times a day to stoke the fire in the woodstove. It keeps our propane bill down and the temperature up in what we call the seedhouse.
It’s magical to step inside the seedhouse and find the temperature soaring in the sun despite the arctic air just on the other side of the door. Flowers and tomatoes are sprouting, bringing the promise of spring.
What’s happening in the unheated hoophouse under the row cover where we tucked in lettuce, mustard, and spinach seeds? Hard to say.
We are so lucky to have Bert’s construction skills and design genius. Check out these sweet elements to the second floor of the new shed.
Insulation is going in to keep it cool in the summer and warm in the spring and fall. The kitchen cabinets are in process. And we picked up a funky little remnant of flooring for the little cooking corner.
Locally and sustainably grown flowers and vegetables