March.

I tried to find a quote, or a poem, to best describe how I feel about this fickle month. But nothing I found would do. Is that perhaps because there isn't really any way to describe it? Dull to look at, the ground still bare, brown and mostly frozen, there is nonetheless a quivering, electric undercurrent to the air and earth. There is no way to describe how this time affects the senses, other than it just does. 

The sap is flowing, the seeds orders are arriving, the onions have been started, the days are a bit longer and the sun a bit warmer. The garage has been cleaned out to make room for new babies, the remaining squash and potatoes are being sorted through and used up, the makeshift greenhouse has been patched and reenforced, and winter clothes are being packed away.

So much preparation going on, that I feel giddy with anticipation. I am certainly not wishing time away, but oh, am I ever glad that Spring is here.