Willington on the Way March-2026
March in Old Willington – A New Year Begins Again
Here we are in early March in Willington. The mornings are still crisp, but there’s something different in the air. The light lingers just a little longer, the birds seem busier, and if you stand still long enough, you can almost hear the land waking up.
I often find myself wondering what this very month must have felt like in the late 1800s and early 1900s, when Willington was a hardworking farming community and nearly every family’s livelihood depended on the soil.
For the farmers, March was not a quiet month. It was a month of preparation — serious preparation.
The plows would have been pulled from the shed and carefully inspected. Harnesses repaired. Iron sharpened. Mule collars checked and re-stitched. Wagons greased. Seeds counted and measured with the kind of attention that comes when you know your family’s future depends on what goes into the ground.
I can picture a farmer standing in his field, hands on hips, studying the soil. Was it dry enough? Warm enough? Had the winter been kind or harsh? Farming wasn’t just work — it was faith. You did everything you could to prepare, and then you trusted the rest to God and the weather.
And let’s be honest — there was probably a good bit of neighborly comparison going on too. “You starting plowing already?” “Reckon I’ll wait a week.” Friendly advice… and maybe just a little friendly competition.
Meanwhile, inside the homes of Willington, the women were no less busy. March meant preparing for the long stretch of summer ahead. Clothes worn thin from winter would be mended by lamplight. Buttons replaced. Socks darned. Fabric patched carefully, because nothing was wasted. Flour bins checked. Sugar and salt accounted for. Jars inspected in anticipation of canning season.
Kitchens would have been filled with the steady rhythm of preparation — bread rising, soups simmering, lard being rendered, lists quietly forming in a well-organized mind. There was an art to running a household in those days, and it required skill, discipline, and an incredible amount of hard work.
I imagine conversations happening across front porches:
“Think we’ll have a good crop this year?”
“Lord willing.”
“Better get those jars ready — if last summer’s any sign.”
Spring was hope. Spring was responsibility. Spring was rolling up your sleeves and getting to it.
And yet, even with all the labor, I suspect there was a certain satisfaction in it all. The rhythm of the seasons was dependable. The work was hard, but it was honest. Each family played its part in keeping the community strong.
As we walk through our buildings here at Willington on the Way — the Bookshop, the History Center, the old Bank Building — I sometimes think about the people who once moved through this town with mud on their boots and flour on their aprons, carrying both the weight and the promise of a new growing season.
March was not just another month on the calendar.
It was the beginning of possibility.
And in many ways, it still is.
As we move into this spring here in 2026, perhaps we can borrow a little of that old spirit — prepare carefully, work faithfully, help our neighbors, and trust that what we plant today will bear fruit for the future of Willington.
After all, some things never really change.
Warmly,
Barry Russell
