Not the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

February is always my least favorite month of the year. It is a strange mixture of kind of winter and kind of spring, where the temperature fluctuates up and down even more than usual. That’s not the part that makes me want to cry frequently. I’m not complaining about the 70 degree days of February. What makes me want to cry frequently is that February is also one of the wettest months of the year. This February has gone overboard in the wet department with rain and rain and more rain. Since the grass is just starting to think about coming to life that makes February mud season. I get tired of the mud. Muddy areas in the pastures. Muddy horses. Mud covered blankets. Mud covered me.

I know I should appreciate the rain, the replenishing of the water table, the natural cycles of the season, but I don’t. It just gives me a mild form of seasonal depression. Although I detest cold weather I seem to be able to maintain my usual positive outlook on life until February. At the beginning of February I’m looking at the pastures thinking, “this winter hasn’t been so bad.” By the end of February I’m looking at the spongy ground and the muddy areas thinking, “it’s hopeless. The pastures are done. We’ll never have grass again.” And then I look down at my mud splattered pants and question all of my life choices.

Thanks to Jason’s expert level farming skills he makes timely use of fertilizer and grass seed in the spring and brings things back to life. If you want to watch a grown man cry, be a spectator when Jason is watching the horses running around the pastures in February. To a normal person it is delightful to watch the horses galloping, rearing, playing and doing sliding stops. To a farmer it makes you weep as you watch the horses wantonly damaging the ground with every playful step they take. Every year we threaten to cut them off from most of the pasture for a few weeks. Some years we make good on our threat.

All in all, February is not the most wonderful time of year for me. The horses, on the other hand, seem to enjoy it. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

Nemo and Sebastian