I went out to the kitchen garden today to raise the hoops on the winter-over greens and water the beds. We are having warmish weather but very dry and there was some talk of rain today or tomorrow.
I got the hoops rolled back and picked corn mache, spinach, arugula and chard, pulled a half dozen onions and hauled the watering can to the rain barrel. A couple of cans later, the beds were well-watered and I tucked up the ends of the hoops.
Stopping to consider another row or two of spinach and to wonder if Southern States has onion sets in yet, I took a deep relaxing breath.
That was a mistake. The damp and warming soil was intoxicating. It triggered that primitive farmer instinct that lies dormant in the genetic structure of every mountain person I know.
It smelled like spring. My head all woozy, I contemplated the possibility of planting the upper bed of the Italian garden. Onions, carrots, kale.
Stop this madness! I spoke quite sternly to myself. Too early. Much too soon.
As I walked around to the front of the house, I noticed there were daffodils forming their fat buds and snowdrops getting ready to bloom for Imbolc. The forsythia is blooming, the quince has buds.
Too soon.
Too soon…but oh, can we dream!
My goodness that budding is early! What, off by a month at least?
I look forward to moving to the mountains sometime. I love your idea of winter-over gardening; I hadn’t realized it could be done. I will research that.