By Chelsey Erdmann
The First Signs of Spring
This week it finally started to feel like spring was in the air. The birds were singing, the sun was warm, there was a slight breeze that blew the smell of freshly turned dirt right to me—and it really felt like we had made it to a new season.
While fall is full of tasks that button up and put away our lives, our yards, and our homes, spring is the breath of fresh air to take it all back out. It’s our invitation to climb out of hibernation and back into a rhythm of sowing.
More Than Just Seeds
As I was leaving a guy’s place the other day, I told him, "good luck with spring’s work." The work we’re doing this season is so much more than planting seeds. We’re preparing the fields, fertilizing, planting, spraying, mowing (after we rake all the gravel out of our grass 😉), pulling our porch furniture back out, leveling the ruts we made this spring, trimming trees, and getting our yards back in order after the respite of winter.
The Sacred Labor of Spring
And there’s something sacred about that kind of labor—the kind that calls us out of rest and back into motion. The kind that starts with mud on our boots and ends with aching muscles and the satisfaction of progress.
Farmers especially feel the tug of this season deep in their bones. The machinery comes back to life, the shops buzz with last-minute maintenance, and calendars fill with planting schedules. It’s a season of strategy as much as it is sweat.
Watching and Waiting
Spring's work means watching the soil temperature rise like a slow tide, knowing that every degree brings us closer to go-time. It’s walking fields with purpose, watching for the subtle signs that the ground is ready to receive what we’ve waited all winter to give.
There’s excitement, sure—but there’s also gravity. Because we’re not just planting seeds—we’re betting on the weather, trusting the process, and putting faith in something we can’t entirely control.
A Season of Hope
It’s also the season of hope, isn't it? Every seed tucked into the earth is a kind of promise. A farmer doesn't plant without expecting a harvest. We don’t fertilize, spray, and cultivate just to keep busy—we do it with the deep belief that something good is coming. Spring’s work is hopeful work.
Spring Mirrors Life
In so many ways, spring mirrors the rhythms of our own lives. We all go through seasons of dormancy—quiet stretches where things lie beneath the surface, resting, waiting. Maybe it’s been a long winter of the soul, a season of stillness or uncertainty. But then, something shifts. The light changes, the days stretch out, and that stirring returns. We feel it before we fully understand it—an internal thaw, a restlessness that says it’s time to begin again.
Just like in the field, the work of spring in our lives doesn’t begin with the harvest. It begins with clearing space. With pruning back what no longer serves us, shaking off what winter left behind, and doing the gritty, grounding work of preparing ourselves for growth. Sometimes that looks like setting new routines, reaching out to reconnect, or even just letting hope back in. It’s not glamorous—but it’s necessary.
Nothing Blooms Without Effort
Spring’s work is a reminder that nothing blooms without effort. That even joy needs tending. And that most of the time, the real growth happens in the unseen—the underground, the unnoticed, the every day.
Whether you're a farmer coaxing crops from the soil, or someone just trying to get back into the rhythm of life after a long season away, spring meets us with the same call: come back to life.
Here’s to the Work Ahead
Here’s to spring’s work—the kind that gets under your nails and into your spirit. The kind that wakes you up early, wears you out, and fills you with the good kind of tired. Whether you’re driving a tractor across open fields or pulling weeds in the backyard, may you feel the hope that comes with every task, every seed, every small act of care.
Because this season isn’t just about what we’re planting in the ground. It’s about what we’re planting in ourselves—faith, resilience, and the courage to begin again.
So, take heart. The season has shifted. The sun is back. And there’s beauty ahead, just waiting to break through.
Here’s to the work. Here’s to the waiting. And here’s to everything that’s about to grow.
Chelsey Erdmann is a farmer and rancher and creator at Oh That’s Chelsey