At the crack of dawn, a lone man fights through heavy drifts of snow, often waist deep and digs until sunrise to free the greenhouse door. As the first rays of the sun cut over the foothills he crosses the threshold and pauses, breath held, and lights a single heavy duty kitchen match. Tension is high, as he holds it near the gas jet, a small whoosh and a tiny blue flame appears, cutting through the darkness...behold!
It is spring at Bindweed! Let the work begin.
Even in the deepest cold the tulips are sung in their beds. Sensing the warmer air they begin to emerge.
A new shipment of plants arrive and we set baby snaps, poppies and stock into newly prepared beds.
The soil is warm and my senses wake to fresh air, moist and fecund, smelling of soil and plants. Air that does not give me a brain-freeze or frost the hair in my nose.
The wind rages outside, throwing snow against the walls of the greenhouse. It sounds like another blizzard moving in, but I peel off my work coat and finish the last flat of seedlings in my sweat shirt. Our knees creek and our backs reaffirm our age, but it is good to be out in the dirt.
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