BROKEN TUBERS, BLOOMING DREAMS AND A DUCK ON THE WAY

Amanda Foster
Apr 7
3 min read

The Little was in town this weekend, and goodness, did we pack it full.

Young woman holding a gray bunny rabbit that is looking at her from the side. — The Little and a Bunny with an EPIC side-eye.

Saturday marked the first Farmers Market of the season here in Winnsboro—and also my very first chance to explore it since moving to town. The morning was drizzly and gray, but that didn’t dampen spirits one bit. If anything, it made the whole place feel cozier. Booths were bustling, conversations were lively, and we made it our mission to try as much as we could reasonably carry.

I came home with basil sourdough bread that didn’t stand a chance of making it to the next morning, homemade dog treats (always a win), a dreamy whipped tallow, and fried pies—if you know, you know. We also got to play with some bunnies which is every bit as fun as you'd think...even if one bunny had a world-class side-eye. It felt good to be out among local growers and makers, to put faces to the community I now call home, and to start the season with full hands and a full heart.

I took a few days off this week to focus on the farm and let me tell you—I am putting those days to work. Yesterday was a sunup-to-sundown affair of weeding, planting summer seedlings, and checking things off lists that haven't budged in weeks. I accomplished a ton… including sunburning my back so badly I can barely sit in a chair today. Ironically, I’m usually the loudest voice preaching sunscreen. I suppose this was a reminder to listen to my own advice.

Today brought a much gentler pace. I met a new friend for lunch in Mineola, and it was such a treat to get out of the house and let a local explain some of the quirks of small-town life here. She arrived bearing gifts—a massive box and a full bag of bulbs—which means next spring is already shaping up to be something truly special.

Back at the farm, we planted a dedicated plot of deer food and added fencing so the deer can eat in peace, complete with cutouts for fawns. The trail cameras have been endlessly entertaining and surprisingly heartwarming. We’ve spotted a good number of deer—including one precious little fawn who figured out that cutout perfectly—as well as raccoons, opossums, and one mangy coyote that came as a bit of a shock. Farm life keeps you humble and alert in equal measure.

Of course, it hasn’t all been smooth sailing. Some seedlings I ordered arrived completely overtaken by a bacterial infection. The company handled it beautifully and refunded the purchase, but it still leaves noticeable gaps in the garden rows.

And then there are the dahlias. I’ve been aching for dahlia season, and after years of admiring one particular hybridizer’s work from afar, I finally splurged. Every tuber arrived looking healthy—but heartbreakingly, every single one from that supplier rotted almost immediately, despite being treated exactly the same as others that are now thriving.

I can’t say for sure where things went wrong. Maybe they were compromised before shipping, maybe they were stored improperly, maybe they froze along the way. I’ll likely never know. I do know that while I’ll still have plenty of beautiful varieties blooming this season, there’s a real ache in my heart over those lost possibilities.

As spring unfolds, I’m also realizing that the quantities I planted are… silly at best. The plan was always for the first year to be for learning—and wow, am I learning.

The bright spot? The color palette and plant combinations are working out like an absolute dream. Sweet peas and stock are blooming now, filling the air with the kind of perfume you wish came bottled. Clarkia and statice are showing off, phlox is beginning to round things out, and the lisianthus are reaching skyward with every intention of putting on a show.

Despite the challenges, despite a sunburned back and a few broken hearts in the garden, there is so much promise here. This season is teaching me patience, persistence, and the beauty of letting things unfold as they will.

And as if the season wasn’t already brimming with anticipation, next weekend brings something I’ve been counting down to with childlike excitement—Duckie is coming. Just knowing she’ll be here soon feels like another turning point, another layer of life settling into place on the farm. Between new growth in the garden, lessons learned the hard way, and the promise of tiny (figuratively) webbed feet soon pattering about, spring feels like it’s truly, fully arriving.