20 Mar 2015
Vernal
Starting Seeds on the First Day of Spring
Peat pots and earth cover
The kitchen table. Our seeds have arrived.
Here in the warm house, we plant summer’s promise
Of fruit and bloom. Already, peppers,
Two-leafed, struggling seedlings,
Adorn the window ledge.
Tonight is the vernal equinox,
And snow still swirls over the garden.
Winter still grips us, but this rite reminds us:
Bulbs pulse green and waiting in the frozen earth,
And fall’s dead rot to life in the compost heap.
Before this month is out, we will nestle
Peas in the cool, moist earth, gather
The first daffodils and tulips.
This is our Easter, of root and leaf.
We plant hope in the darkest time knowing
It will rise again in the light.
I wrote this poem when I still lived in the Finger Lakes, many years ago. There, it wasn’t unusual to have snow on the ground and more falling on the vernal equinox. It’s less common here, south of Boston. Often I’ve planted peas already, a celebration of Saint Patrick’s Day or a defiance of it, a little earth ritual on the feast day of the man who purportedly Christianized Ireland. This year, though I can see the garden fence again, and a bit of a couple of beds, we’re still weeks off from planting outdoors. But I have seeds started under lights, and last night I planted still more, thinking of this poem.
Lettuce from another spring. Fresh food is coming, I promise!