It’s seed catalog season again — the most glorious time of the year! Well, perhaps not the most glorious. More often than not, seed catalog season falls around the same time cabin fever starts to set in, or, more accurately, seed catalog season is my psyche’s attempt to combat the arrival of cabin fever — they are like two sides of the same chilly coin.
Regardless of the origin, this is the time of year I often find myself gazing out across the frozen expanse of winter prairie while my brain suddenly plunges into a monologue about how we should probably till up a few extra acres of the yard to try a new variety of sweet corn this year. And do I want more raised beds? Do I want to put an arched hog panel trellis between the raised beds I already have? Do I want to put greenhouse plastic over the trellis so I can start planting earlier … like, maybe tomorrow?
Seed catalog season typically arrives when I haven’t left the house for anything other than chores or to run the kids to school for a few days or even weeks. Staying close to home can happen in spring or summer, too, but at that time of year, I’m not leaving because we are too busy with lambing or calving or the garden. This time of year it’s because it’s dicey to plan longer trips — you never know when the weather will turn. Plus, the roads are icy, and we’ll have to pack all the big coats and schlep across the tundra in town clothes — which is not an exciting prospect when you’ve become accustomed to the protection of coveralls. Consequently, the spring and summer are when I also try to jam in book tours, music tours, camping and all other off-ranch activities. Thus, I spend January and February pouring over not just seed catalogs, but also calendars, trying fervently to make more weekends to accommodate all the big plans filling my thoughts.
In other related news, last fall, I was selected to be the ‘storyteller-in-residence’ for an organization I love. I was thrilled, especially as it would mean working closely with amazing colleagues who have become good friends.
“We will have an in-person retreat in January to plan everything,” I was told. “Will we though?” I thought pessimistically because I’ve learned the hard way many times over not to make plans that include long-distance travel in January.
Last weekend, the planets were aligned in the sky. Mars, Jupiter, Neptune, Saturn, Uranus and Venus were all visible, creating a spectacle that won’t happen again for 400 years. I also got on a plane and flew to Denver for that work retreat.
I’m not sure which felt more epic. My flight got in an hour early, every restaurant and cafe we went to was magically able to seat us immediately even if they were packed, there were parking spots directly in front of every place we needed to be, and every minute of the work was joyful. At one point I texted my husband, “This might be the most gratifying professional experience of my life so far…”
And then it was over. My plane landed in Dickinson, North Dakota, without a single bump, and as I drove home from the airport — which actually took longer than the flight — the miles flew by as effortlessly as ribbons carried by the wind. The grass beside the road was burnished gold, the sky was making her soft kaleidoscope into twilight and at the exact moment I started to feel really tired, I turned off the highway onto our road.
I’m not sure how to process a weekend of travel where every detail unfurled that seamlessly. I’m guessing something like it won’t happen again for 400 or so years. But it is nice to be reminded as I sit down with my seed catalogs and calendars that sometimes plans do work out perfectly.
Mostly, I’m just thankful that leaving and coming home felt equally wonderful because there are quite a few more long, cold months before I can start planting seeds, even if I do manage to get that greenhouse plastic set up soon.
