Finding Spring

Most years, I wait impatiently for spring to come to me. This year, I went and found spring instead. In North Carolina. Richard’s parents are here, and his youngest sister and her family. Southern North Carolina in late February has temperatures in the 50s, more or less. Some days in the 40s; others in the 60s. We saw a few flakes from the storm that dumped a foot of snow on Ithaca this week. But mostly, it's sunny here.

Last Sunday was one of those sunny days in the 60s. Ellen had been talking about wanting a small vegetable garden. I was eager to get my hands into soil. So I pulled out a spade and began to dig. She joined me. Very soon, we had a garden bed.

For gardeners from central New York, with our heavy clay soils and glacial-deposited rocks, digging in North Carolina is an unexpected treat. The soil here is mostly sand. We found two stones. In the entire plot.

One of the two stones

Monday, it rained. Tuesday, we drove around to Clicks Nursery to pick up 4 bags of composted cow manure and a bag of limestone, and dug that into the bed.

Wherever I am, I love visiting locally owned enterprises. You get to share stories, like laughing with the nursery owner about the differences between digging in North Carolina's sandy soil and the rocky, clay soils in our home in Ithaca, his hometown in southern Illinois, and his wife's hometown in Glen Falls, N.Y. (several hours east of us). You get helpful advice, like his recommendation to add limestone to counter the acidity of NC's sandy soils. And you're likely to find locally made products from other local businesses. In this case, that was Daddy Pete's Organic Cow Manure. They come with their own stories: Daddy Pete's, in Stony Point, N.C., is a family-owned farm and organic compost product business named for the Smith family's great-granddad, who began the farm over a 100 years ago. It is has been in continuous operation by the Smith family ever since. But buying local is about more than stories and human connections. It's about community security -- in this case, of part of our food system, and of our economy overall. Here's how: Earlier this week, we went into downtown Fayetteville to find a shoemaker. (That's another story: we found a small shop owned by a Vietnamese couple who left Saigon in the 1970s when the U.S. pulled out. They came to Fayetteville because of their relationship with an Army officer whose family lived here. Their son, now grown, repairs the shoes; his mother writes up the orders. We spent more time talking with her about families than about shoes.) On the way back to the car, we stumbled upon another locally-owned business, a lovely little coffee shop with the wonderful name, "Rude Awakenings." We got a cup of Fair Trade coffee (for Richard) and fresh blueberry muffins (for Ellen and me), and picked up a card describing the 3/50 Project.

Founded by Cinda Baxter, the project is simple: Pick three independently owned business you would miss if they disappeared. Stop in. Say hello. Buy something. It's implications, however, are profound: According to the U.S. Dept. of Labor, every $100 spent in locally owned, independent stores, $68 returns to the community through taxes, payroll and other expenditures. When that same $100 is spent in national chains, only $43 returns to the community. When it is spent online, nothing returns. If half the employed people in this country spent $50/month in locally-owned independent businesses, it would generate more than $42.6 billion dollars in revenue. Hence 3/50. Pick three stores. Spend $50/month among them.

The choices we make -- whether to turn some (or all!) of our lawns into productive landscapes or to support the businesses owned and operated by our neighbors -- affect the futures we will have, individually and communally.

Today, Richard and Ellen are erecting a fence to keep the rabbits out of the garden. Planting cool weather seeds -- mustards, mesclun, arugula, radishes, and peas -- comes next.

In N.C., spring has arrived. Back home, I'll dig the hoop houses from under the snow, experiment with planting some cold hardy, day-light sensitive greens if the soil is workable, and wait for spring to arrive again.

February contradictions

Grapevines

February is a month of contradictions. The world is turning toward spring: the days have lengthened noticeably. The sun, when it appears, is climbing higher in the sky. It is time to prune the fruit trees and vines this weekend, before they break dormancy. Under the plastic hoops, once again under snow, the daylight-sensitive hardy greens are readying to re-grow.

Inside, my seed order is almost complete. Last week, I spent a pleasant hour rummaging through the “seed exchange” drawers at the county cooperative extension office, then returning again with my friend, Jemila, who is just beginning to grow food. I was especially excited by the number of less common varieties of heirloom seeds and those from the Seed Savers Exchange. The names are wonderful: Winged Pea (a low-growing legume, not related to peas, that most likely originated in northwest Africa), Purple Vienna kohlrabi, whitloof chicory, Black Beauty summer squash, Wong Bok (Chinese cabbage), , Ruby Red swiss chard, Rapini broccoli raab, Sandwich Island salsify, Green Curled Ruffed endive.

February morning (Buckthorns outside living room windows)

And yet, when you look out the window, the most immediate appearance is still deep winter. Temperatures remain in the 20s during the day, and the low teens, or lower, at night. The freezer has gaping spaces between the remaining jars of zucchini and pumpkin soups and tubs of berries. Kat still prefers to spend most of her time in the mud room, venturing outside only when required, the rest of the time positioning herself by the inner door to the house so as to make a rapid dash past unsuspecting feet into the warm, forbidden territory.

Kat (photo by Beth Bannister)

This morning, I woke to the sound of the snow plow and a new dusting of powdery white.

Embrace (Buckthorns II)

Buckthorns are a weedy tree, but their relatively small size makes them useful at the wood's edge bordering the southern end of our gardens. These two are outside our living room windows. I love the way the two trunks have grown up around each other.

Waiting

View from the living room couch.