Spring Shifts
Everything at our house is in flux, or so it seems.
Flowers are steadily growing up from their winter beds, but not blooming yet. A wicked frost this morning softened the tulip leaves so that the trampling of the chickens, previously not a problem, has mushed them. I don’t quite know what kind of blooming we will have this year. The daffodils can’t be bothered, and look as if their determination will win out against any fickleness of air or ice, and any amount of disrespect from the animals. They are such hopeful blooms, boldly reaching up their spiky leaves and buds until the day they bow their heads and unfurl.
Weather is sometimes wintry and sometimes a bright and warm foreshadowing of what is to come. On Monday we had four seasons: warm sunshine, blustery clouds, furious snowing, and a gorgeous sunset. The field across the road is a canvas for whatever season and weather we are having, and the entire south side of the house has an ever-changing mural by way of the windows. Monday offered quite an exciting moving picture.
The cats are living on the porch again, instead of their winter residence in the garage. Luna is expecting her first litter, and Cleo still hasn’t come home. We are slowly coming to terms with her likely permanent disappearance. What could have happened to her, we ask each other. All sorts of scenarios have been discussed, mostly sad ones. In the end, we will never know. The joy of opening our home to our animals comes with the real risk of losing them. In fact, every one of our animals will die, most likely within the next five to ten years. Chickens and barn cats don’t have the life expectancy that some animals do. Dogs are closer-kept, and livestock more managed. But the animals we have now have as much freedom as we can give them, while still keeping them responsibly. Our Ella and Persia cats seem to have avoided impregnation, but a visit to a clinic (for neutering) will confirm or deny that. We had hoped to avoid multplying the cats, and since we adopted four girls, got away with not having their surgery right away. Cost (astronomical our local vet) and learning curve were our main deterrents, but God’s design has run it’s course and so we welcome the joy it will be to watch kittens be born. Our cat-to-rodent ratio is nicely balanced, but maybe we will keep one kitten to replace our Cleo. And if anyone wants a sweet cat, we will be offering them to good homes.
The kids are starting to venture out for longer stretches of time. Winter this year was cruelly cold. Thankfully we had so much snow (inches upon inches) that we got to enjoy sledding and snow forts and wintry hikes through the woods. But the bitterness of the wind drove us inside, back to our candles and tea, back to our books, back to our paints and projects, back to slow afternoons with a sibling movie. But now the trampoline beckons, Tiger Woods hung with camp hammocks calls. The site for the new treehouse expectantly waits for the building to begin, and the chickens venture farther into the meadow.
I signed up for a “chip drop.” There is a website used by potential customers and arborists alike. Customers put themselves on the list, with an address, a photo of where they’d like a massive pile of chipped wood to be dumped, and have the option of paying the fee an arborist would normally pay to access the list. The actual chips are free. But you have to agree the receive the entire 20 square yards, without notice. Then when an arborist needs to offload their dump truck full of wood chips, and maybe some logs, they can choose a customer near them and drop their load. I set it up, and I wonder every day if the surprise mountain of chewed up sticks will appear in front of the tool shed, as I’ve offered. It will feel as magical as Christmas morning when it does, because it will mean I can make a dream come true.
Finally, after 18 months of ruminating, I have chosen a site for a kitchen garden. The details of how I chose don’t matter, but the result is that I need a mountain of chipped wood to get it going. We have two paddocks flanking the pole barn on the North side of the property. The one on the west side is perfect for raising pigs, and I hope we extend our animal responsibilities to include the joy of piglets and porcine companions, and eventually delicious bacon and pork and sausages. However, the eastern paddock would suit a kitchen garden perfectly. And we can see it from the breakfast nook, which clinched it for me. It’s got a fence that will at least deter the deer, and a shorter netted electric fence set up within the confines of the horse fencing will hopefully keep out most chickens and rabbits. It is a grassy site, and not completely flat, but there is a garden tool shed (formerly for equestrian tack) and space for composting bins that I intend to set up from disused pallets. I won’t get many seeds in the ground this year, I don’t expect, but I’d rather start than drag my feet in the name of perfection. My plan is to cover the grass with cardboard, wet it, pile up logs and sticks and wood chips, and then compost. Anne of All Trades is my guide and inspiration for this “lazy gardening.” It is a synthesis of everything I am learning about how things grow, and makes so much sense to me. Just the idea of it makes my spine tingle in anticipation.
When I grow impatient with the “not yet” of it all, I am peaceful thinking about the progress in the process. And how right and gentle and ordained it all is. My love and admiration and closeness to our good Maker is amplified and deepened and intensified as I move more and more in rhythm with the pace of his land and sky and creatures. And the shift of Spring feels right and meaningful.
