Grabbing a hoe to chop away ice from in front of our door would normally just be considered the improper use of one of our tools. Using it for this purpose the first week of March, when we should be working in the fields, left us shaking our heads and contemplating the madness of this never ending winter.

Below, Katie Chriest shares some entries from her gardener's journal from early March, 2013. We can only hope to catch up with with these more normal seasonal activities. Katie also adds a few thoughts on farming, and eating locally grown food.

 

     For the last few years, my gardening "journal" has been the Farmer's Almanac calendar. I reference past calendars to remember what rocked and what flopped, and to have some idea of what happens, and when, throughout the season. 

     These are usually a joy to peruse in the not-quite-spring. They remind me - despite ample evidence to the contrary - that spring is, indeed, on its way. 

     Here's a sample from my 2013 calendar:

March 9: Raked out beds, prepped SW garden corner for planting. 

     First Redwing Blackbird!

March 10: 67 degrees! Prepped rest of beds for planting. First Heron!

March 11: New Moon! Planted Arugula, Beedy's Camden & White Russian Kale, 

     Sugar Snap Peas. Many Redwing Blackbirds!

     Of course, this was the same year when Arugula and Cilantro overwintered so well that I was still harvesting them in January. An unusual year, to be certain.

     But then so was last year. And so, indisputably, is this year. 

     Reading last week's newsletter about record cold and compromised crops, I was reminded how much closer to climate fluctuations we become when we eat homegrown or local food. When we only rely on big box grocers, we barely recognize the tenuous connection all of us have to the food that we eat and the climate and soil that support it. If a summer recipe calls for peaches and we head to Giant Eagle, we'll probably find something. If we head to the farmers' markets, we'll be confronted with the hairsbreadth between ourselves and nature's ability to provide in our region. 

     How fortunate, then, that we have local growers with an eye on the proverbial (and literal) sky. None of us can control the weather; but at least we can support those who know how to adapt. 

     (And if I plant anything this March 11, it'll probably only be my self on the couch to wait out the rest of this winter.)