The farmers who supply us with spinach every two weeks all winter long sent an email with these words: spring IS really just around the corner. The birds are singing and the air is moist. I’ll take a farmer’s word for it.
I can’t say that, in the late afternoon, walking to pick up that spinach, I experienced that feeling of lightness that I would expect from an early-signs-of-spring kind of walk, but since the farmer mentioned moist air, I did take note of it – a sense of dampness, of snow melting. Slowly. In some places.
Surely we are inching toward March!
No time to go to the farmhouse today. But for Ed and me, all conversational strands lead to talk of the building project.
The track for the kitchen lights is too short.
The smoke alarms we picked up at Farm&Fleet aren’t as well rated as the ones on Amazon.
Craigs list may have a good armoire for sale one of these days. In the meantime, there’s Walmart. I cannot believe I am arguing in favor of Walmart.
We need to rethink the tiles in the vestibule. What is a vestibule anyway? Any different from a mud room? Or a foyer?
And this goes on, all day long. As if somehow the farmhouse has become my spring hope, my vision of breezy evenings and birdsong mornings. Spring comes earlier out at the farm. That, at least, is what I want to believe.