There is a silence that comes with the falling snow that you can almost feel. Muted and muffled, the morning takes on a fairy-tale quality. Yes, it is snowing today. Again.
Just yesterday, I swore I could feel the stirrings of root and bud as the unseasonably warm air felt heavy and humid, giving a nudge to the great maple tree, the old lilac bush, and the tiny daffodil spear poking out of the moist earth.
I was sketching garden beds in my head and calculating seedling start days as I surveyed my current garden patch. Lists of vegetables and herbs clicked off in my mind. I could visualize the three-sisters garden I would plant soon with sweet corn, pole green beans, and winter squash, just south of the main garden. The side porch flower bed was already blooming in my imagination with hollyhock, nasturtiums, french marigolds, and lavender. I paced a large circular area where my herbal medicine wheel garden would be constructed and planted with Echinacea, sage, chamomile, rosemary, and mints. I could hear the first callings of the Killdeer foraging the scrubby corn fields and could taste the warm air as I breathed deeply, my mouth open and smiling.
But, this morning Momma Earth gently reminded me that February=Winter. I peered across the bare, open fields from my front porch, a mug of hot orange-spice tea warming my hands, and watched the tiny snowflakes swirl and skitter across our narrow farm road, collecting in the ditches and accumulating on my porch steps.
I still have several more weeks of rest and reflection before me. In just a few more months, I will be standing in the middle of my vegetable garden, stretching the kinks out of my back and wiping my brow with gloves caked in dirt, thinking back to this quiet, calm time of resting. I need to remember that each season has its purpose. The snow is beautiful as it blusters past, teasing our St. Bernard, Mosey, to come out and play. Spring will get here soon enough. For now, I will relax and enjoy the calm.