Frozen Sprouts

I am not going to lie. Spending the day with 150 7th graders was about on par with hitting myself in the head with a tack hammer at 6:00 am this morning. After arriving back in Louisville on Saturday night, I was suffering from a holiday hangover. The intensity of visiting family, friends and places of my past left me feeling worn and longing upon my return to my cold house, especially since my chickens were at the sitters. As I searched the homestead in the dark on Saturday night, I sunk lower as I found each of my plants frozen stiff, even the Winterbor kale. It was not till the morning when I broke the ice on my greenhouse to see a temperature gauge reading 54.7 degrees and three flats of greens growing, slowly, but still growing, did that holiday hangover start to recede and the desire for a spring creep in.

The trip back to southeastern Pa took on a enlightening tone as the perspective cultivated through gardening and reading. Signs for local eggs, milk and meat jumped out from where they had blended in before. Each of the small farms developed distinct personalities as I recognized the different agricultural practices, green houses, poultry, livestock and cover crops I had studied. It was an explosion of thought and realization. On account of that I repeatedly kick myself in the butt for not recognizing the resources while I was younger.

I am fighting within myself to appreciate winter. The thought of the frost killing cabbage worms and slugs is about the only thing saving me from winter depression. I need to reflect on winter a little more to change my perspective. On changing perspectives, I am glad I choose 150 7th graders over the tack hammer. They were the factor that finally kicked my holiday hangover by being just as tired and worn-out as I was.