walking through the field

hoop cleared by hand

our seeds are ordered, and they'll be in the mail by the end of the week.  hoes are sharp, beds are being prepared, and a tissue damp with water pressed to my nostril reveals a moist brown imprint of the inside of my nose.  the hour to prepare has swelled, crested and landed on our shores like a deep blue, white lipped wave smashing offa’ rugged boulder.  we’ve dug in.  our heels are in the dirt--our fingers too.  the growing season has begun, and lady georgia has been blessed with sixty degree days and a gentle breeze.  friends are gathering to share the workload, and a buzz of energy is building in the community.  we’re filling out paperwork to register for the farmer’s market, we’re planning plantings to accommodate both of our restaurants, and our creative juices are churning on developing new markets.  our backs and biceps are hurting in all the best ways.  seven impressive hawks are making tight circles in the sky above, and our dogs are howling their way around the new property. perennial blueberries, raspberries, and blackberry bushes stand choked with mature weeds, waiting for the fresh spring to bloom again.  tomato cages are being cleaned of debris, and stacked aside for the summer heat.  next week, seeds will enter the dirt, and before long, it’ll be next valentine's day all over again.