The snow came and went, the rain swept through, and the sweeping included a few odd bits of architecture. This was our greenhouse.
It’s pretty small damage from a storm that left some folks with burst pipes, collapsed roofs, or standing water in their livingrooms. Still, I think it’s sheltered its last tomato starts.
The North wind doth blow and we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?
He’ll sit in a barn and keep himself warm
and hide his head under his wing, poor thing.
Well, never mind that, because this weekend THE SUN HAS COME OUT. Rush, rush. Get into the garden!
Almost always there comes a weekend in January when the weather fairs off and some short spasm of garden work can be indulged. Usually I give it to the herb garden. Weeding out and snipping up the herb plants is a job on the right scale for a short interval of sun in midwinter, and the soil there is more likely to have drained enough to be forgiving of gloved hands in the dirt. At the moment we have no herb garden, since everything that was garden is now heaps of construction spoils.
But there is orchard to prune! Whee! I mean it. I have had such a case of toxic garden withdrawal this year, and all the more acute in the winter weather. So I found the clippers
(now, there’s a miracle all on its own) and went forth to do service against the forces of crossing limbs.
Now, look here. It is January, after all. So I wore my coat and hat like a sensible gardener. But it was not 15 minutes when I had the coat off again.
My condolences go to you-all who live east of us and are looking at those -20F temperatures. I know I was tired of just ordinary 20F quickly enough. But today I revel. And I am not alone. Little speaks of comfort like a hen finding a place to dust up on a winter afternoon
or a cat absorbing the heat from a window.
I give you that the day was short for the task, my arms and hands are not well toned after 3 months or so of garden idleness, my clippers, peccato mio, are not sharp,
and the quest for the perfect 45-degree cut is never reliably fulfilled. But I sweated a bit, and reminded myself of a couple of callouses softening, and found a few muscles that have lain dormant. Ahh. How sweet the smell of severed bark. How musical the sound of clippers closing.
A good day in January.