We will start seeds this week. If I let myself, I could absolutely totally freak out right now, I could cry & lay on the couch and wallow in a mess of tears, snot and self pity about how under prepared we are for all of this...
But I really just laugh. I just make another list, order more plants, pull more trash from the barn and laugh.
We wanted this. We signed up for this. And in typical Kalin & Matt fashion- we will get it all done.
Just in case anyone was wondering- there is zero lavender currently planted at the farm. It seems there is a small misunderstanding out in the interwebs that we bought an existing Lavender Farm- we did not. We are building one from the ground up.
We are also planting a LOT of flowers this summer. And this week, the tiny little seeds will get their start in a greenhouse. This is so, when the weather finally breaks- they can go into the ground with a headstart. I may look at all of this prep work this year- and say next year- "I'm just tossing the seeds in the ground come June 1" but you don't know until you try.
That is basically how I am living life right now. I don't know anything really until I try. Until I clean this barn out, I won't know all the answers to hosting weddings in it. And until I turn an outhouse into a flower stand, I won't know if any flowers will sell, and until we make it to Oct. 30th, I won't know how the wedding season went. But trust me- a year from right now I will be a wealth of new knowledge. I'll know about caring for thousands of lavender plants, and owning a big empty barn with endless potential and I'll know what went well this season and what needs to change.
But until then, its limbo time. The calendar says Spring, but this is Spring in the great North, where each morning the sun is so bright, so brilliant, I leap out of bed thinking that I slept 2 months and its time to turn earth and plant things and it's not. Its 18 degrees outside and there is a bird bath with a fresh layer of ice. It's torture. I feel like a kid who is at an amusement park, but can't ride the rides.
Somewhere, in a greenhouse in Washington, in a warm, plastic covered tunnel, there are thousands and thousands of 4-5 inch tall Lavender plants marked "Sheick."
And on my kitchen drop zone, I mean, table, there is a box of seeds, little specks of life that need sun and water and dirt.
And in the barn, there is a racoon family who is soon going to be evicted.
But all of it must wait. Life's greatest lesson in patience, Mother Nature.