On Sunday morning, the hens’ water was frozen again.

John and I shared the morning chores- cat feeding and chicken tending- wearing our coats and boots. Before replenishing the bigger of the chicken waterers, we had to crack the ring of ice around the rim. Winter is still in residence here at New Earth Farm. So we wait.

We ordered potatoes from Maine more than a month ago. When they arrive, we’ll have to prepare their beds. We’ll be patient till they appear in a box at the back door.

Seed package and a tray of potting soil

At the moment, parsley, broccoli, lettuce, celery and other organic seeds are sprouting in the greenhouse on warming mats, in flat trays with clear, rectangular covers where condensation gathers on the inside. Every morning, John checks for new green sprouts, gently lifting the covers and tapping the water onto the soil. The fragile life-forms have a long way to go before being transplanted.

And fifty multi colored chicks from Iowa that arrived February 22 are running around in a heated room in the barn, gathering under two swinging  lamps holding 100 watt light bulbs. They need several weeks of 80-85 degree temperatures to survive.  They’re eating organic starter feed, drinking fresh water. They’re lively, fuzzy and precious, as baby chickens are. They won’t be able to go outside for six weeks or more.

None of us here is outside digging or planting today. The soil and air temperatures are still too variable and inconsistent for many seeds to germinate, and of course, there’s that date: April 15.Though most of us think of it as Tax Day, for gardeners and farmers in this region, it’s the last frost date. Not that we have frosts on any regular basis in Virginia Beach in April, but it could happen. And there is another nor’easter predicted for this week.

It’s been an unusual winter for Tidewater. We’ve had an actual snowstorm, school closings, long quiet days in the house, and weekends full of cold precipitation. On the gravel roads to our farm, the ditches spilled over four or five times.

Chicks in the barn.

And yet, just because the sun comes out doesn’t mean it’s time to think about planting tomatoes. Right now, there’s a howling around my office window that puts me in mind of a Scottish book; “The Back of the North Wind.” And while I’m just as ready as the rest of us to stop wearing layers, I tend to follow nature, step by step, rather than hurrying her into a dance. Meanwhile, the phone is ringing, and the emails are coming in from folks itching to start their gardens.

After eight years on the farm, I’ve come to appreciate the rhythm and the work required by the seasons. There are May days when John cannot get every single chore done, bed weeded or plant harvested and it has to wait till the morrow. There are whole weeks in August when it is so hot, he has to change his long sleeved t- shirt three times in a day, each one drenched in sweat. There are moments in April when the softness of clover on my bare feet and the smell of blossoms remind me of the peaceful pleasure that most people think of as a perfect reason to live on a farm. And there is the joy of actually planting potatoes, close to St. Patrick’s Day, or even a little later, knowing that the harvest is many months away, and yes, we can wait that long. And the reminder, as we put the spuds in the ground, that “We‘ll ever go hungry again,” as Scarlett O’Hara said in Gone with the Wind.

As my Facebook friends make notes on their gardening activities, pruning roses and planting peas, the wind snarls around the back of our house. Another email invites a group of gardeners in Norfolk to a meeting this first weekend in March. Another phone caller asks for a truckload of compost and topsoil, for a garden they want to start right away.

I’ll wait. Spring is coming, the daffodils are still wearing their green coats. So am I.