Winter Sprouts
This past Sunday, as with many Sundays, my volunteer, Abe, came to help me with winter gardening detail: removing dried mint and dill from the stems to jar for tea and spice, respectively. We removed and bagged seeds from collards and arugula, and separated beans and peas from their shells, some for cooking and some for planting next season. But this Sunday was different. The sun was shining and it was 65 degrees—time to work outside.
I love the beginning of the spring season—going out to clean the last vestiges of plants left to overwinter—carrots and beets often make it at least through January, and sometimes the kale and collards will come back in the spring—and preparing the soil for the new season. We add compost, organic fertilizer, plan this year’s garden design with companions next to one another for best growing results, and rotating vegetables and herbs to take better care of the soil. It is a most rejuvenating time of year.
But this doesn’t happen in February. It happens in March at the earliest, April even, when the earth begins to thaw and the cold-hardy plants such as lettuces, spinach, kale, collards and sugar snap peas can go in the ground. 65 degrees in mid-February, while a balm to the soul in Chicago, simply isn’t good for the plants.
Chamomile has sprouted. Thyme is greening up, as are scallions and leeks. The red-veined sorrel is popping through the earth, along with comfrey and yarrow. And the trees—the maples, the peach and the apricot—bear strong buds. Too soon. It’s too soon (but there’s no global warming, say some).
I had a conversation this weekend with a woman from Michigan who knows many farmers. They too are concerned that trees are budding and the ground sprouting too soon. What happens when the weather turns cold again? These fragile buds and sprouts won’t make it. Entire crops will be lost. Farmers will lose income. Food shortages will occur.
So while I enjoy the beauty of the warm mid-sixties sunshine in February, I have concern. Not only for the potential loss of food crops this season, but for the imbalance of our planet that is confused by this unexpected change of temperature, an imbalance that seems to be gaining momentum with each passing season.
So here is a prayer for the earth, for her to find her balance, and for us, her most active inhabitants, to work with care and compassion to help reinstate that balance. May we be diligent in cultivating a relationship with the earth, treating her as we would a loved one, so we know the ebb and flow of her seasons, and through tending the earth, nourish her so that she speaks back in her way—by continuing to bring us her good and wonderful bounty.
Rabbi Robin Damsky