The seed catalogs are slowly disappearing from the dining room table as each order is placed. Every winter, just after Christmas, they swarm the room, landing on the table in neat piles labeled "summer veg", "pumpkins & winter squash", "grains", "annuals", "perennials", "ground cover", and "field & greenhouse supply". They are poured over, pictures are studied, descriptions are read, lists are made and re-made, field maps are copied and marked... and then copied and marked again - just to make sure everything will fit just right - no waste. For months, the table is virtually unusable for fear of disrupting the mental organization that it represents. But another winter is almost over and there is this little lull as we await the deliveries that will deposit our winter's planning and our spring's work. There is an almost imperceptible buzz, an energy, within us that is starting to vibrate the depths of our being and draw us into the still frigid and blustery, but sun-bathed air. This is always such a bittersweet time of year as we are eager for the excitement and spunk of spring and yet, still sleepily desire to cling to those last bits of winter rest. But soon we will be able to see if the description of the newest heirloom tomato has enticed us accurately, and are we ever ready to stop eating canned tomatoes and sink our teeth into a fresh one; ripe, juicy, and still warm from the noonday sun. As the last catalog migrates to its place among years of filed seed catalogs, we know that we are only moments away from the glorious joys of various green hues blanketing the trees and fields, poppies dancing on summer breezes, and the sweet scent of corn pollen floating on the evening air. Be gone, clutter of the dining room table! Make way for heaping piles of grilled asparagus!