APRIL 103 



April is also the month of the new furrow. As 

 soon as the frost is gone and the ground settled, the 

 plow is started upon the hill, and at each bout I see 

 its brightened mold-board flash in the sun. Where 

 the last remnants of the snowdrift lingered yesterday 

 the plow breaks the sod to-day. Where the drift 

 was deepest the grass is pressed flat, and there is a 

 deposit of sand and earth blown from the fields to 

 windward. Line upon line the turf is reversed, until 

 there stands out of the neutral landscape a ruddy 

 square visible for miles, or until the breasts of the 

 broad hills glow like the breasts of the robins. 



Then who would not have a garden in April? 

 to rake together the rubbish and burn it up, to turn 

 over the renewed soil, to scatter the rich compost, 

 to plant the first seed or bury the first tuber! It 

 is not the seed that is planted, any more than it is 

 I that is planted; it is not the dry stalks and weeds 

 that are burned up, any more than it is my gloom 

 and regrets that are consumed. An April smoke 

 makes a clean harvest. 



I think April is the best month to be born in. One 

 is just in time, so to speak, to catch the first train, 

 which is made up in this month. My April chickens 

 always turn out best. They get an early start; 

 they have rugged constitutions. Late chickens can- 

 not stand the heavy dews, or withstand the preda- 

 ceous hawks. In April all nature starts with you. 

 You have not come out your hibernaculum too early 



