Well, it is that time of year again when happiness returns to our lives. After months of wondering why the hell we live in upstate New York,* Spring has returned. No more dealing with frozen water or frigid barns, though the fact that I have transplanted tomato seedlings and brought out the hammock is a guarantee for snow within the week.
I now know why the dwarves whistled while they worked: It was warm! Clean out the two feet of hay that has accumulated in the cow's stall before she just steps over the railing? "Yes please!" Shovel the compost into the garden? "Sounds like fun!" Watch the chickens rip up all of the grass from under the lilac tree? "Aww. Aren't they cute!" Listen to Scrappy Doo scream because his brother just body slammed him on the trampoline? "I just love the sounds of the children playing together!" Spring is definitely this mother's little helper.
In a week we have cleaned stalls and coops, tilled the garden, pruned the blueberry bushes, cleaned out the flower bed, cut back the raspberry canes, planted trees, planted and transplanted seedlings, mulched the beds in the greenhouse, composted the manure, bought six ducklings to add to the avian free for all and mended the garden fence so Noelle can no longer be my garden apprentice.
I guess farming in upstate New York is kind of like child birth. Once the pain and suffering of winter is over and the Earth gives birth to that first beautiful Spring spinach, you think, "That wasn't so bad. I could do that again." And chances are you will, unless of course, you smarten up, invest in some birth control and move South.
*Technically we live in Central New York, but for New York City folk, "upstate" is anything north of the Tappan Zee Bridge.
