Terra Brockman

It's been too long since Christmas, and most folks wish the winter were over. But this lingering not-yet-spring is a precious time.

If a plant deprives your crop of moisture or sunlight, it's a weed. In most other situations, so-called weeds are actually doing a lot of good.

When you grow up with a grandmother who insists that you thank the hens every time you gather their eggs, gratitude becomes second nature.

As a child, I loved to make and eat popcorn with my dad. But this rosy memory is eclipsed by the reality of the popcorn my brother grows now.

On a crisp winter morning, I took a walk in the sparkling snow covering our small farm. Soon four beehives beckoned.

The post office called recently about a box of honeybees. The assault of insecticides means my sister can no longer overwinter her hives.

There should be some kind of fanfare as the first seeds of a new season go in. But this sacred mundane act generally happens in silence.

Driving through a mini-snowstorm, I thought I might see a snowbow. But it never materialized--and once again, none of the snow stuck.