I could photograph it but already some nine hours into March and it seems this month is not in the least bit photogenic. March is volatile, March could go anyway, March could be the makings of us, March could be the beginning of the end. That’s March for you.

If I were to photograph it, it would look messy. Our farmer arrived in at midnight last night to a wife collapsed with the tired on the couch. At one hour into March, I nagged him up to bed. At seven hours in with children coughing and fighting in our vicinity, we wake up and realize we’re late. The house is running late. He goes out and realizes that two more cows have just calved without him, he is cross because he wasn’t there. I’m cross because I could have gone out and checked them. We’ve run out of room, some calves will have to be sold in the mart tomorrow. He is trying to sort out the calves and their thankfully healthy mothers and I’m trying to figure which of the children are healthy enough for school.

March hangs its miserable old head over us trying to decide which way to go. Will it  continue raining or will it give us a few dry days to dry up the already very wet ground? The cows need to go on grass now to ensure that the milk is of a good enough quality to provide us with a good price. That first milk cheque of the year will need to be good and don’t let any farmer tell you otherwise.

In the kitchen in March mode, dinners become creative as we discover the back shelves of the pantry. In the office, we try to keep paper work in order to ensure that when the madness subsides, it might look like we had a hand at some sort of efficiency should we be inspected.

Wittering away and giving out at the kitchen sink, I see a daffodil out the window and I realize I’m being unfair to the month and she’s only in the door. Like the kranky old auntie, she’s settled herself in and is already looking for tea and empathy and I’m giving out about her already. But March has much to teach us, challenging us to become even better in our approach to it all. But mainly, we’ll just grin and bare her until she picks up her bags and wonders off the farm, spluttering, complaining and coughing as she goes. It could be a long month. Look, we’ll try our best anyway. She’s left a vase of daffodils in the kitchen for us to enjoy.