Dear Spring

[It's okay to laugh, it is pretty darn funny especially if you know me :) ]

Dear Spring, 

We need to have a little chat about what is going on here at the Fry Family "Farm". 

It has been a very long winter.  I realize that I am a born and raised Alaskan, but the reality is, I do not like to be cold. Period.  As I was digging in the garden yesterday, while wearing a fleece jacket, long pants, and gloves I realized there are some things I think we should discuss. I cannot keep it in any longer.

First and foremost, this wind is not okay.  Its constant, unannounced arrival is not appreciated.  I do not want its company on my runs, bike rides, garden time, or anywhere else for that matter.  More importantly, I have a new sun hat that I am rather excited about and I cannot wear it for fear that it will blow off and sail back to the incredible artisan in Madagascar that made it while I run after it.  My long runs are not that long right now, I would prefer it to shield my lovely face and neck from skin cancer instead of being a training tool.

[There is a definite chance she may steal it!]

My dear, dear garden, I love you.  I love you far more than I should and spend more time and love on you more than I do my husband. I feel kinda bad about it. You have the finest soil in the county and folks stop by every year to ask about it.  I would like to request that you no longer sub lease to rocks.  Every year, when I rototill, I catch you with these unlawful house guests.  I have worked very hard to give you such a nice home, please respect it.

Fear not, my soon to be fruitful garden, I have solved the mystery of the missing peas, muskmelon and green bean plants.  Unfortunately, there is not much I can do about it, the culprit has been found but not necessarily apprehended.  I have a feeling she may not be acting alone.  We predict her gang of misfits may be about 14 strong.  What can I say?  She has a really long neck and lays eggs year round!  Now that I know the truth I will diligently work on not comparing you to the oh-so-spectacular gardens in my monthly issues of Southern Living magazine.  It is not fair, I know.  I also promise not to let Josh judge you mid season for what he thinks is a lack of fertility on your part.  Good things come to those who wait and we will wait on your abundance, my love.

To the row of some sort of flower that I can’t remember the name of that came up with a vivacious splendor in the middle of the garden, its not you, its me.  I realize that you fought the fight of winter for as long as I did, but you had to go.  My son has informed me that he won’t eat flowers this year.

Baby chickens, you are stinkin’ cute, seriously cute.  In no time at all you will grow up to be awkward, only half feathered teenagers and we will name some of you ridiculous names.  Some of you will lay eggs and live with the big girls, some of you will grow up to be roosters that we eat.  In the mean you are cute, cute, cute!!!

So, my precious garden and baby foul, I vow to love you, cherish you, baby you and only feed you yummy things all summer long.  When the time comes, some of you will learn to love winter and some of you will die away, go in the freezer and be born again in the following Spring.

We can get through it together.  I better go put some seeds in that dirt I mean soil!

XOXO,

Heidi

[the first day that 70 didn't feel like 40!  My hat blew off right after this was taken]