There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens. And so it has been for us, the merry month of March has welcomed opportunity for a time to observe, a time to dig, a time to sow, and a time to swing so high that your toes nip the branches of the Hawthorn tree.

The sunbeams and morning dew harken to the earth, and our eager sprits with it to awaken, for the Snowdrops have come to declare that spring is nigh. The Daffodils affirm the declaration and hail the commencement of the Spring parade. Forsythia illuminates the once dark corner in the garden house court. Plum Blossoms flaunt astonishing clouds of sweetly scented pale pinks and soft whites, rousing sleepy bees from their long winters rest. Little hands delight to discover the first blooms of English Daisies, Vinca Minor, Dandelions, and purple Pansies.

The Chickadees sing, the Woodpeckers knock, the regal Robin returns, the Morning Doves coo, the Killdeer call, the Geese sound their trumpets, the Hawks soar, the Eagles watch from high in the evergreens, and happiest of all, a pair of Sparrows gather bits of twigs and moss to build their nest in the little house we hung in the Sweet Pea tunnel. There is indeed a time to observe, and no pleasanter time has there been to see so many wonders all at once, than the days of waking spring.

As we carefully pull back the winter blankets of dried remnants from the garden floor we find an array of treasures which had been buried months before; mounds of phlox, delicate poppy seedlings, the first set of leaves of a sunflower, bright new raspberry starts, and a wealth of feverfew, lemon balm and chamomile cover the ground. The overwintered carrots have been a delightful treat. Likewise, we feel particularly spoiled to be enjoying meals made with crunchy kale, spicy arugula, and deep green spinach that survived the bitter cold. Each and every gift offers an encouraging reminder that we are merely the hands who tend the land and offer the seeds, but the real work and wonder lies in miracle of the plant its self.

A time to dig has come with a renewed vitality as sleepy muscles have been brought out of hibernation and put back to use. While the workload does appear overwhelming to the eyes, the satisfaction of turning up even a small patch of fresh soil is simply unmatched. And further still, the thrill discovering of all the wonders which have steadily taken place beneath the surface when all appeared dormant from above, is absolutely wondrous.

The longer days are met with as many hours outdoors as we can spare, and all the evidence to show for it; garden tools spread about the grounds, boots kicked off, picnic blankets laid out, knees stained brown, the potting bench covered, watering cans tipped, noses a touch pink from the chill, and cheeks a trifle rosy from sun. And Mud. I cannot write an honest word about March and fail to mention mud. Mud absolutely everywhere. I’ll not deny that it makes an outright mess of my tiny home every time we trample in and out the door, but I’m just so happy for all that it means, I can hardly think to complain.

It’s a time of living poetry. Even where my words fail to impart, we have not failed to experience. We take on a new rhythm of the shifting season and we dig, and we dig and we dig to prepare the ground as quickly as we can because we’ve got ever so many seeds and an unbridled enthusiasm for bringing it all to life. But for as much time as we spend with our hands in the soil, the elder two sisters have negotiated an equal share of time soaring though the sky. “Higher Mama! As high as the Hawthorn”, they shout! And the littlest of the sisters has her heart set on tasting every spec of dirt, stone, and stick she can get her quick little fingers on, my faithful companion and resident soil tester.

The days are dizzying with excitement and feel a bit like a race to fling the door wide open and join the cheerful birdsong with all of our hopes and expectations. But it would be unfair to leave you assuming that my dear girls, happy helpers as they are, don’t have ideas of their own for how the days should be spent, which at times don’t include an ounce of gardening. There are days where the girls wake up thrilled for the plans we have to tend our garden. Then there are days where they’d much prefer to play about while I go ahead with the weeding and preparations, so long as I let them know when we are ready to plant seeds. And there are the days where they ask that I play along with them, and not worry about the garden at all.

My aim from the very beginning of growing our garden together has been to allow my children to partake as much or as little as they please, so that they may grow organically in their relationship with the earth and it’s wonders. I hope with all my heart that they are able to recall this time and experience in their childhood with the utmost fondness, and I feel rather confident that for the most part I have done well to foster this. But it has not been without a bit of wrestling in my own heart. Raising my children and growing our garden are among my topmost joys and I consider it a most precious gift that I may enjoy them in tandem. I’m certain it goes without question that I would prioritize the care of my children over the needs of the garden. However, it is another matter entirely for me tend the wants of my children when I have my mind set to its work. This was brought to my attention one afternoon when my sweet girl said to me “Mama, I wish you would pay attention to us and not worry about the garden so much”. Her honest words left an ache in my bones, but I received them in them in full. I could see that I had come to rely too readily on their ability to play independent of my constant engagement and thereby had failed to accept a number of invitations they had given—something I’ve promised to always give myself up to so long as they should offer.

While I know better than they the importance of preparing the garden, lest there won’t be one, I also hold fast that none of this would be a success if I were to give my dear girls the impression that they are second in my heart behind the garden. So I am reminded again and again that whatever is left unfinished today may be be taken up anew tomorrow. It is imperative that everything must be grown under a spirit of joy, for it would be a terrible waste to grow a garden under a spirit of animosity, the food would lack all flavor and the flowers would not be half so beautiful.

And this is the lesson I want to always remember. As the old adage suggests, you reap what you sow, I have come to see that what we are sowing in this season is much more food and flowers. We are sowing seeds of character, so we may grow in compassion toward the earth and one another. We are sowing the foundations of memory; sights, smells, textures, tastes, sounds—all of which will draw us back to this place, in this time. We are sowing a family history, not one that has been handed down by the familial guidance of generations before, but one that begins now with a dream that was put on a mothers heart.

With a renewed understanding of what a time to sow means for us, the burden to tend the garden with such haste is lifted. Not one moment of joy is wasted time. Just as I said before in February, I remind myself yet again, when August comes around not a soul will look upon our garden and think it a tragedy that we had not made more progress in March. So let us delight in where we are. Let us delight in how far we’ve come. Let us delight in the wonders we’ve encountered because we did not rush past them. Let us delight in the Glory of God, for every good and perfect gift comes from above. May I always strive to steward these gifts with tender care, so that I may sow a Legacy that tells of God’s unyielding love.

As the month of March nears its end, much is already changed. The earth reflects the shifting of seasons as Forsythia’s bright yellow blooms begin to dim while the sun travels northbound on the horizon. For as much as we hate to see her go, we thank her for being a light to us during the darker days. Amidst the plum trees, we dance as they bid adieu to winter with an enchanting performance—a whirl of petals fall like snow upon our cheeks and land in our hair.

With a new month on our horizon I took pause beneath the snowy petals, seeped in gratitude for all the way the seasons teach us the importance of each days value. From the first days of the month to the last, each one achieved its purpose. For we never could have twirled beneath the falling petals had they not bloomed first, and soon enough we will be dripping with juicy sweetness as a result. But first many days work must be realized before we may enjoy that first bite—works that are out of my hands, but ground me in the present. Such things cannot be rushed, and neither should we.

Naturally, we have left ourselves plenty to keep us busy for the month of April, but even for as slowly as progress seems to be counted, we finished out the month with a satisfying list of seeds which have been set in soil, some direct sown and most in little pots while we continue to prepare the ground. Here is an up to date account of seeds which have been started.

Flowers: Sweet Peas, Calendula, Shasta Daisies, Poppies (several varieties), Stock, Cosmos, Strawflowers, Rudbeckia, Sunflowers, Queen Anne’s Lace, Nasturtium, Forget-Me-Nots, Foxglove, Coneflower, and Marirgolds

Herbs/Vegetables: Mint, Anise, Oregano, Thyme, Sugar Anne Peas, Lincoln (Homesteader) Peas, Arugula, Lettuce, Cabbage and Cauliflower.

I feel ever so humbled, grateful and positively joy-filled by every bit of the work I get to set my hands to, including the opportunity to put it all into words. Surely we all know that I could carry on and on, for I never would tire of telling stories, anecdotes and lessons learned within gardening and motherhood, and of course I’ll continue to do so as April lends itself. But for now, I think I shall conclude this entry with the fondest of feelings and open it up to you , my sweet friends. For I’d truly love to know what wonders have filled your hearts in this time. What seeds have you sown (literal or proverbial)? Do you have any stories, anecdotes or lessons of your own?

I’d really love to hear from you, in the comments or email, or even by letter if you prefer. I always imagine this journal as a conversation I’d have over coffee or tea, if I were given the opportunity to sit down with a kindred hearted friend and exchange stories, I hope you feel the same as you read through it.

A final note in support of the small shops we are deeply grateful to partner with and support; a list and links for your convenience.

*Many of the girls wardrobe stapes can be found at Luralu— who is very generously offering readers of Ivy & Tweed a 20% discount using the code IVYANDTWEEDBLOG

* Our favorite Merino Wool base layers (which also pair perfectly under Luralu linen dresses are from our dear friends Chasing Windmills Kids

* Seed packets, vintage botanical prints, and botanical stationary from our friends Halden Gardens

* Little leather shoes, socks and tights from Adeliesa

* Knit pixie bonnets from our dearest friend @mama_endo

* Framed Art in the Playhouse from Lore´ Pemberton

* Paper Pot Presses and children’s garden tools from Mouse in the House

* Additional wardrobe staples featured from our friends The Simple Folk

* Seed Packet stamp from Cedar and Grey Paper Co— who is also very generously offering 20% off to readers with the code IVYANDTWEED20

* Rain pants from Fairechild

* Head scarf and botanical stickers from the loveliest little shop around, Adored Vintage

Seed to Seed: A Time to Sow