I have started itching to get my hands in the soil. It starts this way every year about the same time, just as the days start to grow noticeably longer. For many years when I lived in apartments, this tingling felt desolate. Last summer for the first time in many years, I planted a vegetable garden and slowly raised a harvest. How satisfying!

We have decided to stay in this place at least until the fall. That gives me one more season to work this soil. I am excited. Last year’s seed packages have been sitting dejectedly on top of my office credenza. Today I begin sifting through them and started to think about ordering seeds.

Seeds hold the genetic memory of millions of years, and the hope of generations to come. These marked packets also serve as mementos of spring sunshine and summer growth, groundhogs I chased, vegetables harvested and cooked into soups, confidence earned as I regained a glimpse of self-sufficiency. They are a testament to lessons learned, and build my hope that this summer will be even better.