January

Here, along the shores of Lake Champlain, the sun doesn't shine much in January. January...deep in to winter...dark days, dark nights, bitter cold winds...some years the snow seems endless...this year I am left wondering where is the snow? 

Took a walk around the gardens this afternoon...garden beds iron hard...the still silhouettes of the deciduous shrubs stand mutely in the weak sunlight...the leaves of the hardy euphorbia stiff and leathery...a few twisted pods still cling to the dried stalks of the asclepias tuberosa...there is beauty here in the stark stillness of a late January afternoon. Beauty in the muted browns of the branches, silvery grays of sage and lavender, bleached out blondes of the grasses and faded chartreuse of the chamaecyparis...I can clearly see the framework of my gardens and admire the soft pinky-lilac of the stone that forms a backdrop for one bed...yes, it is beautiful and oh, so very still.

Late January...the days are noticeable longer. On those rare occasions when the sun shines there is a hint of warmth, just a hint but enough to briefly lift my spirits.

Late January...the freshness of the new year has worn off a bit, seed catalogs are well thumbed and the seeds have been ordered. A little winter pruning has been done. Too early to sow seeds. Too frozen to rake up the leaves that escaped the last raking in early December.

Late January is when I grow weary of winter even though it is a necessary part of the life cycles of the plants that I so love. I am hungry for sunshine and open windows, walking out in the early morning without a coat and scarf, the smell of moist soil and the fresh greens of growing plants. I remember now why, for three years in a row, I made sure I missed this part of winter in Vermont. I am ready for spring or a trip to a far away place where the sun shines and the sand is warm.

Magic

I believe in magic...in miracles. Yes, I do. When I hold a hand full of seeds I am in the presence of magic...I can feel it flowing from the seeds, in to my hand, up my arm, throughout my entire body. Magic lives within each one of those tiny seeds. Think about it...a seed holds within its hard coat all that is required for life to burst forth when given the right temperature, right moisture, right light conditions. Life bursts forth from this tiny thing...some of them so tiny you can barely see them...and yet, life lies within them...waiting, just waiting. I am the sower of this magic when I engage in the meditation of seeding a flat of moist potting soil with these seeds of shiny black or lumpy brown or pearly white. Some of these bits of magic are so eager to burst forth that they will germinate in 24 hours when the flat is placed on a nice, toasty heat mat. 24 hours to go from a hard seed to a bright green cotyledon! 24 hours...that is magic. I have been sowing seeds for many years...have sowed thousands of seeds...and yet, I am always delighted when those first green shoots appear. Time and again I dance a happy dance when I witness the magic I have been blessed to be a partner in. Yes, I believe in magic...I hold it in my hands every time I sow some seeds.

Eyes Bigger Than Belly Syndrome

January...heart of the winter...cold...dark...rather dreary looking with bare frozen ground. What's a gardener to do? SEED CATALOGS! I can while away hours oohing and aahing over the gorgeous photos and lush descriptions. I want that one and that one and, oh, I must have some of those. My pencil is sharpened and the crisp white lined paper waits. Soon I begin making lists...Johnny's, High Mowing, Fedco, Pinetree...lists from each of those catalogs...filling up multiple pages with all the must haves. This is truly fun! Jaska happens to be visiting and sitting right beside me..."what tomatoes do you want me to start for you? How about? And this one sounds really delicious, should we try this one?" She has nine varieties of beans on her list. And multiple peas. I'm up to 20 or 30 different tomatoes. At one point she does suggest that I really DON'T NEED any pumpkin seeds. I think that maybe I need to go down in the basement and review what seeds are left from last year but remain glued to the seed catalogs in front of me. I mean, how can a dark, cob-webby basement compare to full color pictures of tomatoes and swiss chard and zinnias and...I have to go now, the seed catalogs are calling, my pencil needs sharpening and there are more lists to make. Yipee!

Why Did I Think This Was a Good Idea?

My daughter, Jaska, wrote a great piece on her blog, philosopherfarmer.blogspot.com, about the hard way that really got me looking back at some of the not so smart, embarrassing, ridiculous, costly things I have done running this business for 14 years. I often preface observations about the hard way with "why did I think this was a good idea?"

For example, starting a business that requires a greenhouse without a greenhouse...really, why did I think this was a good idea...mixing soil by the kitchen sink, potting soil everywhere one would not expect to find potting soil, spending 3 hours a day moving plants in and out...from the dining area to the porch to the bench outside and then from outside to the porch to the dining area. Carrying watering cans from the sink to the plants in the dining area and in the basement. Lesson learned the hard way...a greenhouse grower needs a greenhouse.

How about finally getting a greenhouse but not having a furnace...why did I think this was a good idea? Found a furnace to borrow, a friend in construction wasn't using it, but did I call the propane company and have a 100 gallon tank delivered and filled? No. Instead, Andy picked up a 100 pound tank and hooked it up. I really had no idea how much propane that furnace was going to use. I managed just fine for a few weeks and then the temperature dropped dramatically one night, the temperature alarm went off and there I was, outside at 3:00 a.m. in my nightgown, barn boots and coat, wondering why the furnace was not working. Temperature dropping rapidly in the greenhouse, clueless me working up to a panic, Andy out of town. I called him and he had me check the supply line and tank. There was gas but the furnace was working so hard that it had froze in the tank. His recommendation...use a hair dryer to warm things up. Yup, 3:00 a.m., temperature 10 degrees, I am blow-drying the damn propane tank. Lesson learned the hard way...a furnace in a greenhouse requires more than a 100 pound tank of propane.

And why did I think it was a good idea to try a new fertilizer in my potting soil mix? Ah, I remember...it was organic, supposedly time-release and could be used instead of good old Osmocote. I was looking for an organic option. So, I bought some, but not just one bag, no, a half dozen 50 pound bags. Merrily I incorporated it in the potting soil and began potting up. Did I do a test batch first? No. Within two weeks everything I had potted up using that fertilizer was dead or on its way to dead. Thankfully I had not potted up everything but it was still a substantial loss. I cried the day I sent all those plants to the compost pile. Lesson learned the hard way...run test batches when changing product.

I know there are many times when I have worked 12 to 14 hour days for weeks without a break, that I ask myself, "why did I think this was a good idea?" Times, even now with the proper furnace and propane tanks, that something goes wrong and I am out in the greenhouse at 2 in the morning wondering...Or when the top of the birch tree fell through the greenhouse during a snowstorm and the three shortest people in the neighborhood; me, Jaska, Katie; were attempting to move it and patch the hole without a tall enough ladder...
Siting a greenhouse with trees on three sides...now there is the perfect situation to ask, "why did I think this was a good idea?"

Now, I can look back and laugh. I can say that I have learned much from all of them. The truth is, if I honestly answer that question, "why did I think this was a good idea", sometimes the answer is "because I did not think it all the way through"; sometimes "it was what I could do at the time"; sometimes it is because I just plain love what I do and wanted to do it and I would figure it out as I went along. Figure it out I have, sometimes the hard way. And sometimes I still ask, "why did I think this was a good idea?"

Love What You Do

There is a book called Do What you Love and the Money Will Follow...never read it...don't know what it says. I remember, though, a number of years ago being a guest speaker at a Growing Places class and Mary Peabody asked, at the end of my talk, what best advice I could give to the aspiring young farmers. My response was to do what you love, love what you do, because, in the end, loving your work is what will get you up on a cold, dark morning. Love is what will keep you singing and dancing in the face of disaster or too many hours in the greenhouse or too few customers or endless rain or a late frost that zapped all the you name it. Love lies there, within you, even when you are crying in frustration, disappointment or at your own plain stupidity. Without love you will throw in the towel, if not at the first road-block then, most likely, at the next one. Farming is hard. Sometimes it seems as if it is a thankless job. Your body hurts. You are tired, usually dirty. You don't know anyone else who works as many hours...in the dark...in the cold...in the rain...in the heat...on their feet. If you offer your products in a retail setting your customers can be cranky and ungrateful. Love will get you through.