68 FARMING IT 



"Ac venti, velut agmine facto, 

 Qua data porta ruunt et terras turbine perflant." 



Again a few days of mild and sunny forenoons 

 and a chill creeping into the air in the afternoon, 

 with thin needles of ice threading the little pools 

 of water in the road, followed the next day by 

 a heavy snow-storm which changes into rain and 

 sleet. 



But one day, and I never forget that day, a 

 clear liquid warble is heard in the air, a wander- 

 ing disembodied voice, the first spring song of the 

 bluebird. I am thrilled and look everywhere, 

 but in vain. I hear the clear notes but cannot see 

 the musician, until all at once he alights on a 

 fence- post, or on the roof of a shed, and warbles 

 his flute-like tones. 



And one warm Sunday a few days later I walk 

 into the garden. The soil is drying a bit in the 

 higher places, but is soft and muddy in the hol- 

 lows. The sun shines warmly, a Sabbath stillness 

 is over everything. The hens prate cheerfully, 

 a cow tethered in the sun in front of a neighbor's 

 barn lows comfortably, the shrill call of a robin 

 is heard, and spring really seems here. 



The first duty of an experienced gardener is 

 to make hotbeds and therein cultivate beets, 

 turnips, cabbage, cauliflower, lettuce, tomatoes, 

 and other vegetables. So I sent for some planks, 

 sawed them the right lengths, and spent a part 



