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It will be a little messy, but embrace the mess. It will be complicated, but rejoice in the complications.

~Nora Ephron

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Dear Reader,

The window for remaining garden tasks is quickly closing. Throughout the week, I've only managed to snatch a bit of time here and there when the sun broke through the overcast skies and temperatures hovered above freezing. In those short stretches, I found a way to slip in a few more bulbs, plant a peony root, or top dress a garden bed. Flowers for spring are a big priority, but so are beds ready to receive those first spring vegetable starts. Bursts of color here and there will certainly brighten April days, but a well-prepared bed to welcome the first broccoli, cabbage, and lettuce provides a longer-term benefit.

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Top dressing now with compost is not only a time-saver but also utilises the early spring freeze-thaw periods that naturally support the process of nutrients making their way deeper into the soil. And so, when I am able and the weather is agreeable, I load a wheelbarrow full of compost and apply a light layer to bare beds. There aren’t too many this year, maybe only a dozen; the rest are either still active with winter greens, cover-cropped with oats, or filled with next season’s garlic harvest. These bare ones were productive right up until the first killing frost, already too late for a cover crop to germinate.

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We’ve upped our composting game here over the past seasons. Initially, we were completely dependent on outside help from my friend Mark at Archway Farms. Now, with all of our permanent beds in place, we can produce enough of our own compost for an annual top dressing. We now have six bins in various locations around the garden. This week, I am shoveling compost made from our original bin. Built and set in place even before the first garden bed was staked out. It was a commitment to a future vision.

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Not having a clue as to the shape and form our gardens and orchard would eventually take, we trudged out through the snow that first winter, dumping bowl after bowl of fruit and veggie scraps. In hindsight, I now realize that we were contributing, feeding, and supporting something that we had yet to fully imagine. And it was our dedication to a dream that kept the daily offerings going even through cold, dark, wintry days. Imagine believing in something enough to continue contributing to it without knowing how it will take shape? It makes me wonder what else I believe in that deeply.

It wasn’t long into that first growing season before it was clear that the garden envisioned would need much more compost than one bin could supply. Soon, other bins were built. The new ones, in closer proximity to the expanding garden, became our focus, and the original one was forgotten. But late this summer, for some reason, it caught my attention, and I was drawn back to have a look. With some help from Joachim, I lifted the frame and exposed the most gorgeous heap of compost just waiting to be put to use. We set the frame to the side so it could be filled once again and I stood for some time a bit in awe of the process that had occurred. Left on its own and the elements, it did its thing. And its thing was to become very messy, decay, and then break down into something entirely new and useful.

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This week, as I filled the wheelbarrow with the dark, rich hummus, I looked back and forth between the new accumulating heap presently decaying and the product in my shovel. A small miracle of transformation had occurred, transforming one messy heap of kitchen and garden scraps into something so useful.

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Could this be the year to create your own visual reminder of the very process we are living? It’s a pretty simple yet profound practice, even if you don’t need to slip on snow boots to dump your offerings. Here’s all you need to quickly start this project if that’s your style. Here’s the deep dive if you need more.

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Until next week,

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