I would be honored to be called one but I'm not one, not yet. I have not yet dealt with death (my husband has gotten rid of the three hens we lost this winter), I haven't had a growing season, I haven't pickled anything and I've never tasted fresh milk. Oh and I don't knit or sew or play the banjo. And I'm not sure I could kill anything to eat it - I may have to outsource that one. Here I sit, with my seeds and my plans, in a snowstorm, patiently waiting for spring so I can learn to farm. And I wonder, should I get a seed mat? Do my seedlings need extra light? These are precious things to me these seeds. I don't want to waste them or kill them. So I'm planting my sugar snap peas first - a welcome challenge to grow something in this dreary March. And that will be a start.
In other news, our hens and chicks come next week and other than an old heat lamp and a rubbermaid bin and some cedar chips, I don't have anything else ready. Another confession? I'm quite worried about my garden, about preserving, that I will fail. But enough of that. Chin up, because surely this is all part of becoming a farmer - worry, trial and error, failure and success.
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