Tarps are Winter Work

One sneaker soaked from puddles and my fingers numb around a paring knife, I stretched back, listening to rain on the high-tunnel roof.

It was just the veg team and me in the winter morning quiet, harvesting spinach on our knees under a white tarp. Damp-earth and leaf scents filled the space.

There are things I learn when I work next to someone. Tess is into video-games right now, but she never buys them new. Robert likes his coffee diner-thin, because it drinks down quick. And Lu’s best poetry happens while she harvests greens–surrounded by the sensuous smell and touch of life. 

I learned that cutting spinach is like sculpture.

Which leaves do I take?

Which cuts give air so tiny leaves can grow?

And how have I not known of Yukina Savoy greens, growing in the next row over?

Crunchy and mild like bok choy, tender like a spinach leaf, and oh! the flowers–like a broccoli that tastes great.

After the rain stopped, mourning doves canoodled by our tarp until the wind picked up.

The tunnel cover whipped while Tess and Lu–one at each end–held on shrieking, laughing as wind caught it like a parachute and pulled.  

Hot soup was everything at potluck staff lunch after that.