The day spring sprung, it started to snow. In fact, it snowed more that day than we had seen through the entirety of winter. It started just as Daphne and I were going to bed and when we woke upon the equinox morning a full yard of new white snow lay upon the ground. And still it fell like rain. Not ordinary fluffy snow either. This was fine pellet snow, so dense it was like the white sands of a desert–heavy and immovable. Only the day before we were able to see ever more of the grass of the meadows but now, spring or no, it looks like winter is back and determined to hold out. Still, spring tasks must be done. We are collecting maple sap and daily boiling it down to syrup. We are bottling the last of the winter wine. We are starting tray upon tray of seeds for the summer gardens: onions, leeks and heritage tomatoes. I have a feeling it will be a wet spring, not unlike last year where the goats got to wander upon green grass but for weeks there lay a cool, thick mist over the land as indecisive winter spirits could not quite bring themselves to succumb to the spiral of the year and lay themselves to rest.
Waiting for Spring