When winter rears its fierce face and blasts that cold right into the marrow of our bones, we northerners search for different ways to cope. Some embrace it whole heartedly by taking in the popular winter sports. Some fly off to warmer climates to bask in the sun and send envy creating Facebook posts of tanned bodies and azure, blue waters, while others retreat into hibernation mode, bingeing on Netflix and Prime. But there is a rare breed who waits patiently by the mailbox for that certain sign of spring: the seed catalogue.
I am one of those people. Somewhat odd, I’m sure, but anyone who has a garden can totally relate.
I follow a sort of ritual when that blessed day arrives. I pull the catalogue from my mailbox and cradle it in my arms, much like a newborn child, and walk down the road, back to my house, sometimes trudging through the snow, but always turning my face to the sun and feeling the blast of the northern wind. I smile because I feel a certain sense of defiance. Winter may be here but spring is on its way – even if it’s a few more months in coming – and I know this because I am holding life in my hands.
I make myself some tea and sit at my kitchen table, grasping my cup, feeling its warmth take a tour through my hands, into my arms and then course through the rest of my body. Then I lovingly caress the cover and draw in a breath of anticipation. Only then do I finally open the seed catalogue, lingering over each and every page, first the vegetables, then the flowers. The limey greens of life beckon me while the lush and vibrant colours of reds and pinks and yellows tease me with nudges of memories of hands plunged into warm soil, sowing seeds, and waiting for the first green shoot to push up from the soil and feel the sun.
With pen in hand, I circle the usual purchases of lettuce, carrot, broccoli, tomato, corn, bean, pea, and squash seeds, but then I do something daring:
I indulge myself and look at those things never attempted before. Purple carrots? Why not? Orange tomatoes? They would really brighten up a salad. And asparagus? Well, my husband and I had tried it before and the weeds took over, but now that I’m retired and the kids are grown, maybe I’ll have more time to weed. And while I’m at it, how about that new variety of blueberry … and those golden raspberries certainly look delicious.
At this point, I’m almost drooling because every gardener knows that we work so we can enjoy the fruits of our labours.
I look outside, onto the flat white expanse that covers our garden and slowly the snow appears to miraculously melt away, and I can only see the garden in it’s prime. The lettuce is ready for picking, the tomatoes have filled their cages and it’s time to start removing the suckers, the potatoes are looking great because, for some odd reason, the potato bugs haven’t started feasting on their wide leaves, yet, and the corn is showing promise that we may get a few ears to enjoy with the family during an end of summer BBQ.
I close the catalogue and return my gaze back to the garden. The snow glistens and a chill returns to my body, but no, I tell myself with conviction, spring is on its way. And I will carry that thought in my heart until the soil is warm, the rows are raised, and the seeds tumble from their packages, promising a harvest of plenty, because I have a seed catalogue.
