Freighter View Farms

The garden is awake. There’s no doubt now. The soil, rich and giving beneath my hands, has welcomed its first wave of green with open arms.

Broccolini and purple cauliflower have taken their places, their leaves like sails catching the lake breeze. They’re still small, sure, but they stand with purpose. These seedlings, once nurtured under the glow of grow lights, now breathe in the same crisp, cool air that rolls off Saginaw Bay. From the beds, I can just make out the bow of a freighter nosing its way up the river channel, a distant giant in its own seasonal migration.

Just beyond the brassicas, the onions and leeks I wintered over are stirring. Their slender blades rise from the mulch like quiet reminders, proof that even beneath snow and frost, the garden never truly sleeps. Garlic has already sprung from the soil, vibrant and determined, with multiple sets of leaves unfurling toward the sky. These are the garden’s elders, leading the way.

The peas are in the ground, snuggled up to the trellises that will soon support a wall of green. The very first Tango lettuce seedlings and long-day spinach are poking through, early risers eager to grow. Tiny radish seeds are already working their magic underground, and the first two rows of carrots are in and tucked under a light blanket of compost.

Calendula. Cilantro. Dill. Seeds planted like little promises—of fragrance, beauty, pollinators, and future seeds to save.

This is April. And it is buzzing with life.

The Real Garden Season Isn’t Summer
If you think the garden begins on Memorial Day and ends on Labor Day, you’re missing the best part.

This, from the moment the soil yields to a shovel until the first hard freeze, is the real garden season.

Here on the shores of the Bay, April is not a warm-up act. It’s the opening movement of a full symphony. Each planting, whether it’s a cold-hardy brassica or a spring sowing of carrots, is part of a larger rhythm. This is succession gardening at its finest. Square-foot gardening means every inch matters, every day counts, and no space sits idle.

Lettuce gives way to pinto beans. Radishes give way to squash. Garlic makes space for fall brassicas. The garden isn’t a static place. It’s a living, breathing calendar. The gardener who knows this doesn’t just grow food. They grow time itself.

So, as the lake wakes up, and the first Robin’s song of morning breaks through the hush, know that the season has already begun. The freighters are moving. The geese and terns have returned. And the raised beds at Freighter View Farms are alive with movement, color, and purpose.

The garden is calling.

And spring doesn’t wait.