Ah, finally. Seeds went in, drip tape rolled out, fertilizer was flung, hopes were cast, curses were muttered, breath was held, and ah....finally. There is food.
THERE IS FOOD.
ranted, it's tiny food.
But if you were REALLY fancy or a gnome or a really fancy gnome, these veggies would be the perfect gourmet dinner for you. (I often imagine the small plates served at the poshest places as bona-fide gnome food. Makes the whole occasion even more fun.)
he thing to note here is we went from miniscule, and in some cases, nearly invisible seeds (talking to you, lettuce) that we dropped into what could generously be dubbed Rocks With A Little Dirt, and wound up with neat rows of healthy, delicious Food that will be consumed by us, our friends and family, and paying customers and That Is Wondrous.
We began with the tiniest of seeds,
sown into soil like this...
...where after a week or so they looked like this...
...and then at 3 weeks became this!
It will never cease to amaze me, this transformation.
And I defy you to speak to any grower, on any scale, who doesn't clap their hands to their breast and attest to the same mysterious power that draws them to grow, again and again.
And the Spring flush isn't limited to our dear lechuga. Oh no. The
radishes have tiny red globes,
the arugula and scallions are poking up towards the sky,
the buttercups are stout and ready for nose-buttering,
the green beans and sunflowers have cocktail umbrellla-ed their leaves,
and the snozberries taste like scnozberries.
And no, there aren't really snozberries and you can't eat the buttercups (again, unless you're a gnome), but there's life waking up all over the farm: from wildflowers to legumes, snakes and swallowtails and cousins from all over the Asteraceae family.
Spring is a magical transition for all habitats and all peoples, but there's been a secret feeling of extra specialness at Moon Dog because it's our first Spring. The very first time we'll see the land shake off the winter dormancy and wipe the sleep from its eyes. The food is tiny right now, but give it a few weeks. And then a few years.
I imagine, barring any natural disasters--we are in a popular hurricane vacation spot-- that several seasons from now we'll have the opportunity to look back on this sweet little stretch of time and say " Remember that first lettuce crop? Remember how tiny it was? And how excited we were?"
For just as we watch the little wings of the first lettuce slowly unfold from the soil, we watch our little farm unfold, ourselves wrapped in its growth. It truly is a special Spring.
And perhaps, when we do that looking back a few years from now, there will be a few less snakes. That would be okay.