On April 4th, I started a garden. I filled one strip tray with a mix of tomato, pepper and eggplant seeds. It felt late to start these seeds. On farms I’ve worked for in New England and Oregon, we started seeds in the solanum family, especially tomatoes, by mid-March. The seeds then have plenty of time to gernimate and be re-potted into larger pots. There they become well-established seedlings before they’re planted outside, or into a high tunnel, sometime in May, after the risk of frost. I was delayed by my own hemming and hawing, uncertain if I should start a garden.

I’ve never had my own food garden. Last year, I had a small flower garden for experiementing with natural dyes. I planned to continue the dye garden, expanding it by growing a larger variery of flowers and herbs for additional purposes, like making teas and having cut flowers to play with, but I couldn’t decide if growing vegetables was necessary. In addition to working at the general store, I’ll be farming part-time, or part-3/4 time. All winter I was reassured by the knowledge that as soon as the snow melted and a few strong winds came through to dry out the soggy fields, I’d be faced with as much food as I can eat. I made no plans. The seed catalogs piled up in my living room.

Once I started to consider where my produce was coming from, I started farming. This was in 2009. I worked on different types of farms, and each year felt exhilarated, consumed, challenged, frustarated, humbled, and satisfied. The first time I harvested strawberries and knew that was what was in store for the next day, I felt giddy. There’s always something invaluable to learn, a kindred someone to meet and an endless amount of snacks to eat. Yet, by the end of last season, I had a persistant feeling that it was time to shake things up.

I was startled by a conversation I had mid-summer. While transplanting a co-worker rattled off a list of possible next to explore opportunities, I listened, made suggestions and planted one lettuce seedling in the ground after another. He asked me if farming was all I ever wanted to do. Since starting to farm, pretty much, yes. Before I started farming, I had this idea to travel and farm and write. Once I started farming, I was hooked. We got onto another topic. The day ended. I almost forgot about the conversation. Yet, it returned, another day, perhaps while weeding. It seeped into the year. I realized, I don’t know what’s to come of all this, but there’s an undeniable buzzing.

April 4th, was a cold, rainy day. It may have dusted snow early in the morning. This year, it felt like March was no different from one long, long February. The gray, the chill of the air, and the snow carried on as though early spring meant nothing. I’d had enough of winter, enough of waiting to be outside, to be dirty, to be myself. I went down to the store, bought 50lbs of potting mix and started a vegetable garden. As soon as I placed the seeds in the soil, I knew there’ll be no holding back.

Peter, an endearingly friendly and cranky neighbor, offered to plow the field across from my house. He normally plants a pumpkin patch in the space, but he’s taking a break and the space is free to use. I haven’t measured it out, but the eye-ball assessment is that there’s likely a half-acre of open ground. To start, I’m going to plant arugula, lettuce, scallions, kale, chard, collard greens, tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, tomatillos, beets, carrots, beans, pickling cucumbers, and winter squash. To start. I need a plan for the deer. I need a plan for protection against all the pests that are so pesky. I need a plan for what to do with all the food once it’s harvested. But, more then anything, I needed to start this garden.

Spring has broken through. The smells of bbq and pine mixed with warm sunshine permeate the air. Nighttime is livened with the return of the peepers. Their chanting and chattering seem to exclaim, we are here, we are new, we are excited.

All photos credited to Nora P. Carr.