One day, it’s sun on my skin and crocus in bloom. The next, it’s bitter frost. Early spring has a way of opening you up—then pushing you back inside.

It started with a simple question about radishes. It ended with 500 plants, a full-blown spiral, and a quiet reminder of what actually matters.

It starts with a hammer. Then a pry bar. Then something I can only describe as… a grippy thing.