Memory of a Farmstead

The first spring at the farm was a season filled with wonder.

I had purchased the old property in the early fall when the leaves were donning their rich, lovely party clothes of ruby, russet, amber and saffron.  Much of the ground around the old trees was already covered with the crunchy brown disarray of their discards. 

Little time was spent raking or tidying around the trunks of the trees...after all...three children needed to be settled into school, drafty windows and doors needed repaired before serious winter set in, and the chaos and clutter of boxes and furniture that didn't quite fit needed to be managed.

Shivering our way through the first winter with a furnace that didn't quite work and doors and windows that hadn't been quite sealed, we all rejoiced in the mud and magic as a sunny spring began.

After the children had scattered to school, I found myself wandering through the yard in the morning with a steaming cup of tea.

The warmth of the stoneware mug offered cozy comfort from the sharp morning chill of the air.

Seeing a tender green shoot emerging from a leaf covered patch of ground, I would carefully take a muddy boot or chilly fingers and scrape away some of the protective covering of leaves.  The tender green shoots would shiver along with me and I would carefully cover them back up.

I waited.

And wondered.

When would I finally discover the treasures those fragile harbingers of spring taunted me with?

One definition of the word treasure is 'a concentration of riches, often one which is considered lost or forgotten until being rediscovered'. As the snow melted away, the forgotten riches of texture, color and scent awaited my daily discovery. 

Gardeners before me had planted a concentration of riches that I didn't even know existed when I purchased the farmstead.

Some the flowers I already knew...snowdrops, crocus, hyacinth, daffodils...

Some flowers required research to discover their identity.   In the days before google, I found myself making small bouquets to take to the local garden center.  The patient clerks easily solved my small mysteries.  "Oh, this one is a scilla!   This color of blue is so distinctive!" or "Fritillaria.  One of my favorites!" 

Forsythia and phlox.  Pussy willow and lenten rose.  Vinca and magnolia.  Violets and lilacs.

The farmhouse was always filled with flowers...from tiny, fragile bouquets in teacups to primitive crocks bursting with jewel-flowered branches.  

 

And my memories of those years is still filled with the wonder of discovery.

The first spring in the farmhouse is something I hold clearly in my memories.  Discovering the bounty the previous owners had left was and remains to this day one of my favorite treasures. 

I can easily imagine people living in the house finding the treasures I left for them...

...my personal concentration of riches that will never, ever be forgotten.

'Who plants a seed beneath the sod and waits to see...believes in God.'

This post is written for Alphabe-Thursday's letter 'W'.   W is for wonder.

To read other W posts, just click here.