happy spring

It is officially spring. Changes are in the air. The sun is hanging around a bit longer, the birds are feeling happy enough to sing again and living on the farm means constant motion.

Collecting and washing eggs, planting seeds, prepping soil, completing crop plans, changing oil and tuning up the machines. The greenhouse tasks themselves require all day vigilance. Monitoring temperatures in the germination box as well as the green house. Opening doors, closing doors, watering seedlings, thinning seedlings, building and maintaining a fire in the wood stove all night.

I get encouragement from the tiny vegetable plants that are happy and growing in their cozy environment. Broccoli, lettuces, parsley, turnips, and much more to come. Tis the season, eh?

buried treasures

Even when I was much younger I loved the idea of hidden treasure. My friend, Ivanna, and I were always dreaming up hopeful illusions or delusions of finding trinkets or valuables (didn't matter to us) deep in the woods, floating just beneath the surface of murky Lake Manitou, or even in the most common places. It was a few years later, when I was in high school and then in college when I made a habit of randomly hiding $10 and $20 bills in my car, in pockets of my jackets, anywhere where I'd promptly forget about them. Only to stumble onto them again sometime in the future, surprised.

One of the benefits of living a transient life is that I tend to forget what I own. My belongings have been spread out between states, houses, and rooms over the past three years. I've developed an annual tradition of spending an afternoon or evening in my grandparents' basement opening and closing box after box in order to remind myself of my forgotten treasures.

A week ago I made the pilgrimage to Fortna Dr on a Sunday evening. I spent an hour sitting on the cool cement floor discovering some of my "old friends". Buried in the dust, I found:

• a globe
• a bread machine
• my college bat bag, metal spikes, and ball gloves
• a travel size bible
• an apron with my name stitched on the front
• a pouch of arrowheads
• a photo of me and my hermit crab, Gretel

I don't enjoy all aspects of being the nomadic one of the family. And having to re-inventory my life every year, isn't necessarily a joy. However, the hour in Grandpa and Grandma's basement was a journey back in time and it was good. Good to be reminded of important moments, people and gifts.

basketball...its madness

It is the middle of March. March Madness has begun, and it is like a breath of fresh air. It has been three years since I've been able to watch NCAA basketball. For three years I've had to rely on others to keep me up to date on the season and the tournament. Not a great way to stay informed, I've discovered.

2006 I was preparing for the Appalachian Trail, visiting friends and family. No time for basketball. 2007 I was living in Billings with a roommate who valued Ugly Betty over NCAA basketball. I had never met, nor will I meet ever again, anyone who would admit to that. I was shocked, and depressed. And that brings me to 2008. Whidbey Island. No television.

So, back in Indiana, 2009...yeehaw! Basketball galore. I'm totally stoked. I've got my bracket filled out, I'm reading the papers, staying up to date, watching the games. I love it.

And, as a side note, the Rochester Zebras boys basketball team have been enjoying extended success this March. They will be playing in semi-state's this Saturday. Go Z's. The last time my high school boy's basketball team won their Regional was in 1943. So this is a big deal for our little town.