The first part of March and we can at least rationally expect spring in the near future. It's still cold and still snowing. Sometimes, March is our snowiest month. However, we know that it can't last. The days are getting longer, the meetings are starting up, and the agronomists are beginning to stir again.
Pretty soon it will be nice enough that I dust off the planter and start getting it ready for another year. The tractors have to be inspected, as do the trucks, and the hired man will happily drive from town every day and have something to do.
Year in, and year out it's the same. There are little changes, such as different weather and differences in the small things, but every year for my whole life it's followed the same pattern. When I was small, it wasn't work that I was interested in, but the water from the melting snows. They would bring little rivers all over so I could play in them and dam them up, and the overshoes would be lined up by the back door,three sizes bigger with their layers of mud. The wildlife would come back, and the sky would turn black with returning birds. Every spring there's at least one day when the sounds of a grove full of blackbirds drowns out everything else.
As I sit here and write this, the furnace is running and it's snowing. I can still smell the odor of drying fields and see the first blades of grass in the ditches even so. Spring will come and the spirits will rise. Always the same, and always a delight.