What the frost left in the north bed
By Ida Marum · 12 April 2026 · 9 min read
The cloches came off on a Tuesday that still felt like March. Under the glass the soil was dark and a little sweet, the way it gets when the worms have been working the leaf mould we put down in November. I had expected a bare patch. I got mustard seedlings the size of a fingernail and one stubborn chard that had kept its colour.
I left the chard. The mustard I thinned with two fingers and ate on the walk back to the shed, because that is the whole argument of this letter: the garden is already feeding you if you are willing to put your hands in it before the plan for May is written down.