Chuck Norris (the rooster) has spoken. As ceremonial figure-head of the Acres, he has officially ushered in the season with no less pomp than a ribbon cutting celebration. After carefully donning his ceremonial sash reserved for such occasions, he marched out to the yard, sidled up to an unsuspecting hen and proceeded to mount her, the medals and badges from his sash gleaming in the sunlight. Moments later, for good measure, he mounted another. Spring has sprung.
The temps have been soaring and we’ve discarded our flannels, our boots, and greeted the just-warmed earth with our toes. We’re drinking it up like someone parched, filling our days with as much as possible, for we know weather like this is fleeting in March. It’s a welcome grace period, a sort of Fall do-over, when I can finally plant the garlic, can finally rake the leaves and add them to the compost pile. I’m hoping that garlic will be so sleepy that it will soon wake up in the garden bed thinking it was there all along.
This weather is an oasis, restoring our spirits after braving the winter. But it’s not the destination; it’s a mere stop on the journey. There will be more snow before winter turns and retreats. Maybe even next week. And that’s fine with me, for now. I’m taking the opportunity to sneak in some spring prep work before the Actual Event arrives, because when it does, the race is on. It is a grand tug-of-war, this struggle to domesticate the earth, to prune and cultivate and contain and claim that space for our own. If any progress is to be made at all, it must be done before the grand orgy of plant life takes hold and swallows up the garden or asparagus patch. This year we will reclaim some territory annexed by Sister Nettle. This year we will reclaim the garden, annexed by Every Other Weed. This year I will free the newly-discovered lilac saplings from their overgrown neighborhood. To do any of this though, I must be poised, at the ready, lest these rebels take too much of a stronghold.
So I welcome this sunshine and warmth, drink it up with my toes, as I work feverishly to fortify my position.
And Errol works feverishly to CATCH THOSE CHICKENS. Look out Ladies – he may soon resort to walking.