The Garden in Winter

When the cold comes, I turn inward. I grow quiet. I rest and gather my strength before

bursting back into growth. Life still hums along, but inside me that life looks a lot more like tool sorting than harvesting.

I sit in winter gardens. Brown stalks lean rustling on each other; little roots tuck into bed.

Stones and trellises clarify boundaries that can confuse me in other seasons. Worms move through soil under my feet, making it breathe. 

I like to fill a hot water bottle and hug it on an empty bench, watching my breath blow white.

My own waiting feels like it belongs here.

My name is Ellie–I’m a new writing intern at Franklinton Farms–and I’m starting a series about the gardens in winter.

I’m an older student with kids and a home and a long life of helter-skelter gardening, which I do mainly in spring when the wind whips me up. 

But I’m finally ready to learn about winter work, to transform my waiting into preparation.

I see purpose in the faces of farmers and volunteers striding by, wearing overalls and muck boots, their hands full of tools–and it makes me terribly curious. What do farmers do here in the cold?