SPRING

snap peas   (sugar snap – traditional, crunchy, sweet)

snow peas   (oregon giant – large flat pods for stir fries)

shelling peas  (maxigolt – old time english garden pea)

spinach   (tarpy – smooth, spoon shaped, fast growing)

pea shoots  (field pea cover crop – nitrogen fixer)

brocolli raab  (spring raab – large, slow to bolt)

SUMMER

green bean   (tavera – a stringless haricot verts)

yellow bean   (gold rush – a nice wax bush bean)

bicolor bean   (dragon langerie – long pods with purple streaks)

shelling bean   (flagrano – a french flageolet type)

italian basil   (superbo – traditional genovese variety)

purple basil   (red rubin – italian, flat leaf, deep purple color)

lemon basil   (lemon – a scented basil, amazing with fruit)

tomato   (matt’s wild cherry – a tiny currant tomato)

cucumber   (armenian – thin skin, mild, crunchy, delicious)

Here in late February, I have received boxes in the mail from Johnny’s and High Mowing, and my seed order for spring and summer is 90% complete. All that remains is some persnickety flower seeds, that I, being a persnickety flower person, can’t do without.

But I passed on sentimental favorites, like edamame (which doesn’t size up well) and the incredibly lovely lime green zinnia pictured above, which isn’t as vigorous as the traditional pink. Instead, I bought solid sunflowers and snap peas, italian basil and cherry tomatoes, those beloved familiar things, the easy sell.

Most everything I chose I have worked with before on other farms. On the one hand, I want enough diversity to keep things interesting and to cover the bases if we have pest or blight problems with a particular crop. On the other hand, I’ve never been part of such a tiny team, and I don’t want to get caught in the weeds, literally, because the planting lacked focus and we didn’t have enough labor to stay on top of it.  We will be planting a ton of heirloom tomatoes, for which Caitlyn saves seed, so in the ordering I tried to keep in mind the supplies the farm already has.

On the desk in my room, the whole order clocks in at a little over ten pounds, less if you factor out the five pound bag of field peas we’ll use for cover crop. Arranging the packets and checking the invoices, it gave me a moment’s pause, to consider all that these small contents can become. Long, thin-skinned Armenian cucumbers the size of a child’s arm. Slender, tender piles of yellow wax beans. Rubber-banded bunches of dainty white Japanese salad turnips. And, of course, bucket upon bucket of flowers in bloom.

If there was a fast-forward button, would I press it? Probably. Wouldn’t we all, in February, in New England?

Instead, for now, I make yarn.