Hurried Waiting

As spring stirs just beyond the horizon, a familiar urgency awakens within us—the impulse to move a little faster, to step outside a little longer, to shake off the quiet weight of winter. These gray, wind-swept days have kept us waiting, yearning for sunlight on our faces, for warmth in the soil. We find ourselves daydreaming of far-off places where the air is dry, the light golden—but we remind ourselves: soon enough, it will be lovely here, too.

Then, a single green shoot emerges from the cold earth, and suddenly, we remember; the season is turning. The work begins again. Seeds in hand, we envision the harvest to come—not just for ourselves, but for those we love, for the quiet abundance that spills beyond our own tables and into the hands of friends and neighbors.

And so, in this liminal space—between rain and sun breaks, we hurry up to get seeds and starts into the ground; to wait just a little longer for the bounty. There is much to do this month, of course, but it is our patience, our tending, and our attention we give to the land and to each other that truly carries us through the lingering grey days.

With deep gratitude for your kindness, your community, and your support through this long and wandering winter.