Changing seasons

The late winter sun converted the cab of my black truck from a fridge to a furnace this past week when the temps inched north of 75 degrees. I flipped the AC on, rolled down the windows, and headed out on a list of errands. Once on the road, I stuck my arm out the window and let the rushing wind lift my hand like a kite. I remember doing that when I was a kid.

The last stop was south of Birmingham. Crossing over the mountain, I noticed the hardwoods looked as if the Good Lord had spray painted the limb tips green. Dang, I thought to myself, the seasons are changing. 

Soon I’ll be drawn as if by an invisible gravitational force, to the shed where I’ll treat the handles of rakes and shovels with linseed oil, and hone the steel edges of hoes and hatchets.

I’d love to build a greenhouse so that I could get a head start on the spring garden because March is too early for tilling the soil and laying off rows. I can almost hear Jilda’s mom say, “If you plant those seeds now, they’ll get bit.” And she would be right. 

In years past, when I tried to get a garden in early, we wound up replanting after Good Friday. You can get away with beets, carrots, onions, and lettuce, but most of the other stuff should wait until the season changes. Once the sun warms the soil and chances of frost are slim, it will be time for planting.

The pilgrims and pioneers probably didn’t look forward to planting as I do because of the crude tools they brought over on the boat. Felling trees, clearing ground and tilling soil must have been backbreaking work. 

Gardening is hard work, but these days our lives don’t depend on the harvest. If beetles eat the beans, we can run by the farmer’s market and buy a bushel. And our tools make short work of hard jobs.

Last year, I saved my pocket money and bought a professional chainsaw. It’s an angry tool that can turn a fallen tree into a stack of firewood before you can say, “Bring me that ax from the shed.”

We have an old Ford tractor that was built in the late 40s when Harry Truman was in the Whitehouse. It’s not much to look at, but if I could hook a chain onto the community of Empire, I could drag it a little closer to Wal-Mart with that old tractor. Laying off deep garden rows with that old beast is a simple chore.

People often say, “Purchasing your produce at the grocery store is a lot cheaper, isn't it?” If I was an accountant and put pencil to paper, there’s a good chance they would be correct – on paper. But once you’ve stepped out to the garden in summer and eaten a warm juicy tomato fresh off the plant you’ll understand there is value that a pencil can’t capture. A bonus for me is I won’t be eating pesticides or other nasty chemicals routinely sprayed on commercial gardens.

These are the things I think about when the seasons change.