The signs that spring is utterly and abundantly here are everywhere.
Except in the farm garden.
There it is just wet and muddy.
If you get in really close and look really hard you can see the peas coming up, and the garlic waving valiantly amongst the straw. There’s that bok choy and those strawberries I planted last week. And it is slightly greener now than it was in January. But that’s pretty much it at this point in time. The sum total of March. The rest of the garden is weeds and muck.
This year is just so different than past years have been, so rainy and cold even for the Oregon coast. The land is just saturated. I can feel it beneath my feet when I walk across the ground, spongy and unstable; slicks of mud where the grass just couldn’t hold on any longer and washed away.
I’ve always had carrots, radishes, lettuce and bunching onions growing by now, but this year I don’t.
We’ve always had manure spread by now, and planting beds mapped out. This year we don’t.
I’m trying my best to let go of expectations and embrace what it is, instead of being upset by what it’s not. I’m not sure if it’s working, but I am trying. Gritting my teeth and trying.
I did get my onion slips planted out, because I had to. Nice, big bulbing onions, more than any other spring sown crop, need to be planted early. The Walla Wallas only need three months to mature, but the two storage varieties I’m growing need four months, so into the ground they went.
My plan for the rest of it is just to keep tilling and planting (when I can, when the weather allows) up until summer.
To keep the faith.
To keep reminding myself that the rain will stop. That the plants will grow. That I will sit under the cedar tree in the heat of a July evening drinking something cool, looking over the garden in full growth, and that I will not even remember these dreary days of March.