Friends, and family, and folks who were curious about living with solar energy recently stopped by the creek. It was the first day in what seemed like a month of Sundays that not a single drop of rain fell on the valley, and I could not have been more thankful.

Our urban children call and say that they are on their way home from a good workout, and we have spoken with city folks who are proud to have personal trainers. We smile. For you see, we also work out – doing what our farm requires, outside in the creek valley humidity and sun.

When I approach from the rear, the bees do not even know that I am there. They all fly straight out and up from their hive entrances, and never, or perhaps I should say rarely, circle around to the rear. I can crouch safely in my cleared pathway and quietly observe and know that all is well with my bees.

Greg opened his hand over mine. Something cold and slightly scratchy fell into my palm, and I pulled my hand back in surprise. This was not what I had expected. I looked down and saw the littlest turtle I had ever seen. It was not even as big as a quarter and was so perfectly formed.

Gathering rocks is easier said than done, but I drove down to the old fishing hole, where it is a short distance to the creek's edge and large flat rocks are plentiful. I knew not to get wet rocks, as they would crack with the fire heat, so I gathered rocks that were far from the water and had been dry since the last big flood.

Perhaps one of these days, we will have a self-operating farm where Greg’s gadgets keep everything running smoothly, and then we will both be able to travel together. Or, perhaps, we will just sit on the side deck and do nothing as the farm takes care of itself.

It has been cold the past few weeks, very cold. On the few warm days that the afternoon sun did shine down on the beehives, and the bees did venture out to fly, I was worried. I had not seen any sign of creek wildflowers; yet the bees were out, hungry and thirsty, after the long winter. Quite simply, they were in search of food – but there was none.

Chores done, Greg and I headed back across the yard to the cabin. I had just packed the wood stove tight with logs before we headed outside. Gray smoke wafted up from the cabin's chimney and headed north to the edge of the woods before it dissipated into gray of the day. I knew that the gray smoke signaled the warmth of the cabin inside.

I noticed on our walk yesterday that the daylily shoots were close to four inches tall. The plum trees were covered with swollen pink buds, and several of the daffodils that I had planted along the road had already flowered. Spring was starting to awaken

The day was gray and cold, but it was warm by the fire. We fell into the rhythm of adding logs to the fire and sap to the pan, as we skimmed bubbles off the boiling surface. By mid-afternoon, we had poured 10 gallons of sap into the stainless steel evaporator gallon pan, and the three and a half gallons boiling liquid had begun to turn a light brown. Wafts of maple scent began to rise with the steam.