It's that special time of year, again. Time to set up the tables, hang the lights, go buy new soil-less sterile mix. Time to organize my list of what we will be eating July-October of 2009, and work the thing backwards until I can place a seed order. Ah, yes. It's a big fat welcome sign hung out to coax spring out of hiding. I'm putting seeds in dirt two weeks from now and by a miracle of nature, will be canning tomatoes in August. This is hope, folks. It's faith that there will actually be a rise in temperature profound enough to thaw the earth, warm the soil, and nourish my beautiful babies into adulthood and then convince them to bear fruit. I think it helps when I talk to them, too.
I've been called crazy. The incredulous look of ridicule and almost indistinguishable flash of condescending smirk disappears right away when a slice of yellow and red marbled heaven placed between two pieces of toasted bread and nestled under a layer of bacon and crispy lettuce hits the palate and explodes. Then, for a minute, I'm a rock star of vegetable creation.
Only nine months to go.