Read by Matilda Longbottom

April in New England is a season of optimism. Not warm optimism, mind you. More like bundled-in-a-sweater, watching-the-weather-app, cautiously hopeful optimism.

By the time April arrives, most gardeners around here have already been gardening for weeks—just not outside. We’ve been gardening in our heads.

My kitchen table has been covered with seed catalogs since January. I’ve circled tomatoes I absolutely must grow this year, even though I said the same thing about 12 other tomatoes last year. I’ve sketched ambitious garden layouts in my notebook, rotating crops with the precision of a chess grandmaster. And I’ve stared out the window at the snow-covered yard imagining where the cucumbers will climb and the lettuce will spread.

But April is when the daydreaming finally meets the dirt.

The first real garden day of the season usually arrives quietly. The snow is gone, the sun feels almost warm, and the ground—miraculously—is no longer frozen solid. It may still be muddy enough to steal a boot if you step in the wrong spot, but to a gardener, that’s close enough to perfect.

The garden itself looks a little rough around the edges after Winter. Last year’s stems lean at odd angles. Leaves from October still huddle in corners of the beds. The blueberry bushes look like they’re still deciding whether Spring is actually happening.

But then the small miracles begin.

Tiny green points push up where crocuses live. The chives reappear like they never left. And somewhere beneath the soil, the garlic planted back in November has been quietly preparing its comeback.

The first task is always cleanup. I wander through the beds with a bucket and a pair of pruners, clipping, pulling, and generally tidying up things. It’s slow, easy work—the kind that lets you notice things you missed from the kitchen window.

A robin hops across the lawn, tilting its head like it’s judging my progress. The soil smells rich and earthy, the way it does only after a long Winter. Even the wind, still a little chilly, feels like it’s blowing in the right direction.

Of course, April gardening in New England requires a certain flexibility.

One day you’re happily clearing beds in sunshine. The next day you wake up to a surprise snow shower that makes the garden look like Winter never left. We gardeners just shrug, pour another cup of coffee, and go back to the seed trays on the windowsill.

Because by April, the season has truly begun.

Soon the peas will go in. The lettuce will follow. The raised beds will fill with neat rows and hopeful seedlings. And before long—almost faster than seems possible—the garden will transform from quiet brown soil into the wild green abundance of Summer.

But for now, April is enough.

It’s the sound of birds returning. The smell of thawing earth. The feeling of kneeling in the garden for the first time in months, brushing soil from your hands, and thinking the same happy thought gardeners have every Spring:

Here we go again. ❖