The trickle of seed catalogs arriving in my mail box beginning around Christmastime, has now turned into a torrent.

Almost everyday, at least one or more catalogs arrive. Some sell exclusively vegetable seeds, a few are devoted to tulip and daffodil bulbs, and at least one sells only irises. A Texas seed company sells every sunflower under the sun, it seems, while a myriad of others show exquisitely colorful flowers of every shade and size.

A new one this year deals only in onions sets, sweet potato roots, elderberry bushes, planting potatoes, and an abundance of other already started plants. It’s enough to make me start shoveling snow off the sleeping garden, and begin hacking through the frozen soil! I know there’s soil there somewhere, and all I have to do is get at it.

When these feelings start welling up, I know I have spring fever. It seems to have come early this year. Maybe that’s because we’ve had far less snow than our fellow countrymen south of us. Maybe it’s because last year’s garden was pretty awful, particularly the tomato crop.

Maybe it’s because I never got over last year’s garden and had to try to grow parsley, basil, lettuce, and a huge avocado pit on my window sills. The parsley and basil made it; the lettuce didn’t, and who knows what will happen to the avocado pit.

My graph paper is ready for measuring and blocking off where I hope to plant everything when the snow does melt, and the soil softens and warms up. And each year I promise I won’t overdo it. And each year I break that promise to myself.

The seed order is about ready to be mailed, and despite the zillions of seed catalogs I receive, 99 percent of my seeds will come from just two. They are both Maine companies and I stay very loyal. The rest will be bought in a semi-panic from a local farm supply store when I realize I don’t have as much spinach, lettuce, or radishes as I thought I had. That usually happens in July when it’s almost impossible to find seed packets for these cold weather crops.

But that’s OK. It’s all part of the joyful, frustrating, satisfying, painful, and most wonderful time of the year.

Planting a garden is good for the soul as well as the tummy. It’s a chance to renew life, to watch a tiny seed spring from the soil and turn into something spectacular, whether it’s a flower or a summer squash. It’s a chance to get lots and lots of exercise, and it’s a way to stay close to our rural roots.

Each year I try a vegetable variety I’ve never grown before, a new potato strain along with my usual three varieties of Kennebec, Yukon Gold and Red Norlands, a different kind of sunflower, on top of my favorites, and at least one new pumpkin.

This year’s vegetable may be parsnips or Brussels sprouts. The potato may be blue, and the sunflower — I don’t know yet.
And I promise, I won’t overdo it!

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