I have magically been able to jump back almost two whole seasons to spring. Just as the fall in Martha's Vineyard felt like it might combust into blustery snow, I hopped a plane down south. I'm lucky to be living in bathing suits again, but in a way I feel like I cheated. Such is the nature of seasonal farming (and Martha's Vineyard, specifically.)
Fret not though, as there is plenty to be done. My moms towering bamboos have shaken loose almost all of their long leaves, making for hour-long raking jobs. The raised garden beds are ready and waiting for lettuce and peppers to be planted. I have déjà-vu fertilizing new dark soil and counting the days to the first harvest, although it's bananas this time instead of lilies.
For as much as I've missed the transition into Winter that has happened in the northeast, an extended Florida layover has been nothing short of necessary. It's firstly, and maybe most importantly, a chance for me to catch my breath. I was in no way, after growing flowers for eight months, ready to be thrown into the Gravitron that is Manhattan. Also, those months that were to be spent honing my penmanship skills were happily lent to chasing barn kittens, pulling all nighters in the design studio, harvesting tomatoes and kale to then cook until midnight and waking up to fish before the sun came up. It was the island summer I always wanted and I got it. I also collected stories, believe me. They just aren't on paper yet.
So for the time being, while I'm home for longer than I have been since I flew the nest, I'm completely satisfied gardening barefoot, driving with the windows down and funneling all of my newly gathered inspiration into some incredibly rewarding storytelling. Chasing the sun again. Why not?