Farm Meditations: Spring Mary Anna Kruch Late May lilacs halo the old log kitchen, grow sky-high near the well house, temper winter’s failings. A dirt road runs downhill alongside grass, greened from spring rain, to the willow-bordered pond. Past an abandoned chicken coop, last year’s poplar seedlings push up and away into adolescence; a rusted harrow rests where Guernseys once grazed. Ahead, a rugged path appears, blotted with deer tracks. On either side, wind blows field grasses past fallow pasture, skims lightly to the west, touching Joe Pye Weed and Queen Anne’s Lace. These bob and lean in unison, set lupine into a dance of its own. Just past a stand of Jack Pine, snippets of string dangle from barn wood birdhouses set up on poles, marking the promise of blue birds.
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