Passing the hurdle

This is how it starts each year, or least for the last few years for me.  Tomatoes are seeded and we wait patiently for the moment they are big enough to make the transfer to the greenhouse outside, a temporarily stop before they are permanently planted in the garden for the summer.  At this moment, I think the plants will never make it to the garden; they’ve been indoors for 5 weeks now and I wonder why they’re not bigger.  I forget that doubt each year, because by September, with their towering green jungle like foliage, they create a single maze within I can barely walk to water them.  Last summer, I swear I heard a whisper, “Seymore, feed me…”

This is the season where the sounds change.  The buzz of cutting wood is replaced by the sound of someone tilling the garden, roosters go crazy, and the songbirds have come back to nest.  The days are warming, but the air can still be cool; all it takes is the sun ducking behind a cloud or wind from the north to remind us we haven’t yet passed the hurdle.

The tender greens on the trees bring hope; reminding us of spring’s eternal youth; browns slowly start to fade; and the sky turns a brilliant blue.  We have turned the corner on the hardships of the season and can now wax nostalgically about a blazing fire or a filling winter dinner, but haven’t yet forgotten the Siberian winds that rattled the windows or the blanketing snow.  We are close enough to a new beginning to change our focus and look eagerly to begin outdoors, dirty hands and all.