It's too early to know about May's flowers, but April showers are certainly doing their part. The driveway is once again a muddy river, but the rain barrels are full as the planting season nears -- no trivial matter after last year's drought. After a weekend of short-sleeve days the past few have been chillier and wet, with new possibilities of freezing. Winter, in other words, has not completely let go, but the grass, we were commenting just this morning, has never seemed greener; the earth, itself, seemingly demanding spring. Muddy they may be, but these are days of new beginnings.
Beyond the greening lawn, beyond the emergent bulbs in the flower beds, beyond even the willowy sprouts peeking up in the greenhouse, the kale quietly asserts its own confirmation. Seeded in horizontal pots on the first of November, and lodged on greenhouse shelves along with collards and scallions, arugula and romaine, the kale has been small but intrepid through the winter months. Row covering fabric provided the necessary extra level of protection, sparing me the need of a heater. The more tender lettuces have blessed us with fresh salads despite the single-digits and the blankets of snow, and we have selectively clipped the sturdier braising greens on occasion, but this latter crop has required more patience. We executed a more aggressive harvest for dinner on Easter evening, and though delightful and tasty I rather assumed that would be something of a last supper for the kale.
Watering, then, this morning and satisfying the trip's requisite survey and inventory, I could only smile at the sight of fresh growth. Jagged and bright green new leaves pushing aside the larger pale ones, the kale has gathered its energies for a second run.
Why would I have thought it finished? It is, after all, Eastertide -- the very season of new beginnings in life.
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