Cold seeds in the garage. That’s a thermal blanket (mylar) in there bouncing the light around behind them. And the junk on the sill are various trinkets I have pulled out of the flower garden below it. Gotta love old farmers and their expansive notion of “garbage heap.”
So for the most part, I have judiciously restrained myself from seed-starting. Thusfar I have not quite given in to the call of the dirt, having only planted those seeds notoriously long in germination, and even then, I have done so grudgingly. February 12th is a long way off from planting things around here, but February 12th is what parsley and onions require.
Things changed on Sunday, somehow. I was feeling quite the same about the whole process on Saturday, the day I actually started some flower and pepper seeds (for indoors) and cold salad stuff (mache, claytonia, spinach) that typically takes its sweet time in the unheated garage. Yesterday, though? I was ANTSY. I wanted to dig, I wanted to kneel, I wanted to give in to the agricultural process.
But I didn’t. I only mucked out the coop and started another (the 4th) compost pile. The kid helped, kind of: she shepherded the chickens to the one snow-free spot on the lawn so they could eat their grass. It was a nice day in the upper 20s and we spent lots of time outside. It felt quite lovely. We even got a little sunburned.