This is April: snow storms and sun, freezing rain and a weekend thaw, a precarious balance between hibernation and re-emergence into the world as spring comes, then slips away, and slowly comes back again.

I feel like a seed struggling to sprout.  Though all the ingredients are offered–water, sunlight, warmth–it seems it takes weeks to crack the shell and work a shoot up through the soil. Last season I flowered, through the winter I tucked in quietly among the snow, and now I pray that I will germinate.  April is not just a balancing act for seeds, but for us as a farm and family as well.  It is when we are spending money and relying on more people to sign up for our CSA, it is the last month of my full time job before I go to part time and devote more of myself to the workings of the farm, it is when I cross the bridge from second to third trimester and walk ever closer to the birth of our baby.  For now I am living in the space between questions and answers, the space, as my midwife says, where divinity lives.

I have doubts, but I have persistence, too.  I must be a parsley seed.  It takes so long to sprout that I almost give up on the whole tray until the first seedlings push ever so slightly at the soil and remind me of the strength that patience requires.  I tell myself: if I am a seed, all I have to do is to know that every potential is inside me.  I tell myself: the life that is easy is not necessarily the one that brings me alive.

I am living in the space between the questions and the answers.  Some days I cry in a swell of emotion.  Some days I am steady.  Some days wildness fills me and pulls me to the forest where so much life is waking up.  I don’t know if I will ever get to the answers, but like a seed I persist, for I fiercely believe in this earth.  I believe in the goodness of the world, in the tenacity of the world, in the connections that keep us alive.  Like a seed I persist, pushing up at the soil, working my way toward the sun.