Dug, Filled, and Waiting

There have been two kinds of work to accomplish today, although the "today" part is somewhat arbitrary.  In my mind I have designated March 1 as the day that seeds would emerge from their packages and descend into potting soil.  Today anticipates that moment by several days, but I am eager.  Or is it "terrified"?  In truth it is something of both, although I can only partially account for the debate.  The eagerness is pretty simple:  having initiated this new beginning at a time of year impractical for gardening, I have twiddled my aspiring green thumbs for all these winter months impatiently waiting for the days to grow longer and the temperatures to rise higher.  The time is almost here.

As for the terror?  That part is a little more complicated.  I laughingly tell my friends who ask how this new life is going that I am wildly successful -- at this juncture before I have actually begun.  More than one has speculated that "it can only go down from here."  That, of course, isn't the only option, but it is, of course, a very real one.  While this is, at its core, a learning project, there are some very down-to-earth dimensions I don't take lightly.  Because of my new and passionate sense of calling, we have turned our lives upside down in order to birth a new one.  I quit my job, leaving stretch marks on our resources; we sold a townhome that we loved, nestled in a convenient and hospitable neighborhood we enjoyed, and moved to a spot in the country which by even the most charitable description could hardly be labeled "convenient."  I read hungrily and incessantly books and magazines full of insights, steps and tips, but at night I have this dreadful sense that all this information is someone leaking out of my brain.  What if that thunderous crash reverberating next fall in these rolling hills is my big flop?  So, as I will need to accomplish with the deer when the time comes about staying out of the garden during growing season, I will need to come to an understanding with the seeds:  "do not let me down.  You've got important work to do.  Grow!"

In the meantime, and eagerly apprehensive, I conclude that it's time to get to work getting more deliberately ready.  There is ice to break, metaphorically speaking, and preliminaries to ready.  There is, for example, that thorn tree growing in the heart of the garden plot.  I don't know what it really is, though it looks like a prop for a Holy Week drama.  I don't know if it sprang up volunteer, or if the previous owners lovingly selected and planted it, but to its singular misfortune it finds itself residing at a conspicuously inconvenient address.  There isn't, I recognize, any particular rush -- I won't be cultivating there for another 6-8 weeks -- but the sky is clear and blue, the ground is soft with melted snow and...well, like I said, I'm eager.  With less resistance than I anticipated, the deed is done.

The other job, while not essential for today, is a bit more pressing.  Months ago the "Cowpots" arrived -- the seeding cells made out of dried cow manure.  Heretofore unopened, the trays would need to be unboxed, separated, and filled with the special potting soil that similarly has been stored away in the barn awaiting just such a day as this one if I am, indeed, to start the seeds later this week.  The barn having been suitably and musically christened by throaty singing and exuberant playing over the weekend, I removed the table cloths, zipped open the shipping carton, cut open the first bag, and began to trowel in the potting soil.  Fifty-four 6-cell flats.  Three-hundred-and-twenty-four cells.  Just in case I need to plant more, there are a few bags left over.