Dear Farm Journal,
While the wind whipped a few wisps of new snow across the farm, I was sheltered within the walls of the greenhouse. I’m doing my first real weeding of the season, pulling up the eager sprouts that beat the other seeds to the surface. The cool beds are springing with life; worms, beetles, and microbial energy surging beyond sight. The muscles, tendons, and sinews moan with elongation up and down my legs. Even a winter’s worth of yoga hasn’t physically prepared me for the obligatory longevity of weeding. Our greenhouse plastic arrived today, and the driver had to back all the way down our driveway because the ground is pretty greasy up here on the farm. I heard the truck down the road and left the greenhouse to meet the driver. Balio lazily lifted his head, but didn’t follow me out. I left him to “snooze” and shut the door behind me. This turned out to be quite the oversight, since Balio (finally hearing the truck) created his own exit through the front of the greenhouse. This is why we can’t have nice things.