The season begins.

March always has me scanning the horizon. On the commute home, on trips with my family, anywhere I can, I track the setting sun for signs that the days are finally getting longer. Each day, the sun is a little higher over the barn roofs. More daylight and warming weather kindles in me a restlessness and a familiar urge to get into the garden. I want to dig. Alas, March is too soon to be out, no matter the air temperature. You’ll do more harm than good in that cold and still slumbering soil.

Some gardeners feed that need by nursing seedlings and have been at it for weeks. While I thoroughly encourage the endeavour, limits to time, space, and attention affect how much each of us can grow. March can leave us feeling a bit lost and left behind. What are we to do with our fingers itching for the dirt and noses twitching for the smell of earth and water?

I look again to my windowsills, scanning my ledges for those plants in need of repotting. The pining or wilting, the ones practically climbing out of their pots. Or the cuttings by my kitchen window that have been rooting in water all........

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