Imagine dancing with nature and letting the land lead. That is the mindset I bring to the garden now: I no longer focus on growing food. Instead, I imagine creating balance with nature so food can grow. I no longer pretend to lead; I take my lead from nature. As our weather changes, I meet the day and work with the what it brings.

In January, farmer and land inhale deeply, rest in quiet, and dream of a new season and new life. Little moves outwardly: the land lays still under bed of leaves, cover crops and snow. Water crystallizes in snow and ice; the ground holds roots tightly frozen; few birds sing; no insects fly. Branches and trunks of trees sway in strong winds.

My shovel usually hangs unused, but this year, a local woman called and earnestly asked for Jerusalem artichokes to help her control her diabetes. Its tubers grow underground, like potatoes, and they can be dug all winter, if the ground can be worked. Last weekend, we had temperatures close to seventy degrees, blustery winds and a chance of showers.

I headed to the garden to dig the artichokes. I drove the shovel into the soil; it broke into crumbles. I picked out the tubers and dropped them in a bucket. I used my shovel to push the creeping charlie from the surface of the bed; its roots lifted easily out of the loose, friable soil, as they usually do in March.

In mid-January, I had a day perfect for weeding it! A wild mint, it spreads by surface runners and then drops an anchoring root into the ground to create a new clump. I went after it--at the end of the rows, in the trenches between my raised beds and in patches in the beds themselves. I pulled handfuls of runners out of the water-filled trenches and threw them in the grassy paths, planning to rake them later. Then I grabbed my long-handled trenching shovel and began lifting the dirt out of the trenches and mounding it onto the raised beds so its texture would improve as the soil freezes and thaws.

I stood, stretched and gazed out at my garden: everything seemed ordered: windrows of compost stood neatly throughout the garden; raised beds lay beside trenches filled with water. Water, turbid with mud, flowed slowly in the trench I had cleared alongside those beds. I breathed deeply. The air smelled fresh and lively. It was so windy that I remembered how my father loved to fly kites in March. This wind was so strong it would have been hard to fly all the but simplest kite.

Finally, faint with hunger and drunk with satisfaction at the work I had done, I headed toward to house to fix my lunch, parsnips in hand to add to a lamb stew. I was amazed that it was just past noon! I had been so focused that I was sure I had worked into the afternoon.

We had warm weather again yesterday. Today, strong winds are expected, and significant snow by weekend. We have not settled into a deep winter's rest. Imagine a night of disturbed sleep when dreams are interrupted and fragmented. What will this do to our gardens? Our land? Our food? Ourselves?

Perhaps winter weather will finally settle; perhaps we will have January weather in March. I cannot know. I do know that I can enter the dance of creation and plant a seed of hope. I can trust that the future will unfold and that we will have enough if we simply meet the day. I am sowing that seed for the coming season and for the world I want for our children and grandchildren.

What a good way to begin the New Year!