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Does this landscape look inviting for an afternoon stroll?
Let’s set the scene. Inside the house the wood-stove hums in the basement. It’s warm and cozy and toasty. Heavy blankets hang against our deck and basement windows, encasing the heat. Sun glimmers through other windows, creating patterns on the rug. Water boils in the tea kettle. A pot of pinto beans simmer on the stove.
Outside it’s 12 degrees. The wind blows snow sideways, capturing it, gyrating it into mini whirlwinds. It’s a blustery wind, a fierce wind, a vicious wind. It’s whirled in from the north with ferocity, banishing temperatures in the 40′s. The weathermen lower their voices, using phrases like “wind chill warning” and “advisory”.
Take heed. Do not venture out unprotected. Who wants to hazard out at all with such a cozy inside world? Unless one has a commitment to spend time each and every day outside. Then one must enter that white and blowing world.
And of course, as always, it’s not as terrible as the Mind has conjured. Allow the feet to guide you wherever they want to go. And it’s OK if you return to the house to warm up. Just go outside again for your allotted time.
Lightening snow shadow (OK, it's a tree)
Snow shadows never cease to fascinate. I never really noticed them as vividly until this winter. No two shadows look alike. They have a personality almost separate from their physical counterpart. A shadowed world exists with vague look-alike caricatures parroting solid reality. Watch out! You never know where a shadow is lurking…and what it might try to communicate.
Trees speak their own language, one mostly unintelligible to us humans. We must listen very slowly to even catch the edges of what oak or poplar or maple or spruce might whisper. Every once in a while they communicate in hieroglyphics. I almost know what this fallen log, stretched over a frozen stream in our ravine, attempts to say. Any ideas?
Hieroglyphics: language beneath bark
The snow spoke today. In no language we’d understand verbally it said: walk on my back. You won’t sink in! The Moon of the Crusted Snow sits fat and white in the night sky, providing ease for local folks tapping maple trees for sweet syrup. No sap runs today. One waits for ideal conditions (cold nights and warm days? or warm days and cold nights?) and the inner sap-life of the tree begins to swim in the veins and corpuscles, moving outwards towards its dream of summer leaves. The sap drips into buckets pegged on trees, or into lines attached together, until it’s finally boiled fiercely to sweeten our cookies, our grain, our pancakes.
Precious cedar for kindling
I walked by these cedar logs in the driveway and thought about last weekend. I was jabbering away on the phone to someone, probably my daughter, when a knock rapped on the door. A fellow from across the Keweenaw Bay stood, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He wanted to know if my husband was home. “No,” I said, but he was already nodding, “Yep, bet he’s out fishin’.”
That husband of mine has a reputation. Of course he was out fishing.
“I brought him some cedar,” he said.
Brought him cedar? What? The fellow turned back toward his truck. I tossed the phone on the table and scurried after him a bit. “Do we owe you any money?” I called.
“No,” he said, “I was out in the area. The logs on the log truck were from my property, I’m just delivering some cedar for kindling to go with it.” (As some of you know, we bought a load of logs a couple weeks ago.)
Amazing! I thanked him profusely and retrieved the phone. I am sometimes awed and amazed at the kindness and giving-ness of folks. People who stand ready to offer a hand, to share, to help. That’s one of the best parts of living in a rural area. There’s angels like this fellow, giving of himself, without asking anything in return. May he be blessed…
Scarf hangs amidst orange leaves on branch
Tonight the full moon rises at 10:38 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time. The calendar says so. I do not think we’ll see it here in the northern Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
The season’s first real rain is falling from the skies, pounding on the rooftops, dripping from the eaves, drenching the naked branches of the trees, melting the snow, forming rivulets of water, flowing downhill toward the bays.
It was my first outdoor time in rain thus far for this commitment. Day 80: soaking rain in the evening. I dressed warmly, complete with snow pants and scarf, but everything was sodden within fifteen minutes. It did not feel uncomfortable. Spruce or pine branches make lovely forts under which to watch the dripping rain for awhile. Why do we humans so often shelter inside when it rains?
After hunkering down under pines, it’s fun to stride through the snow, up small hills and down ravines, peering around fallen trees and rain-drenched leaves. You can shake yourself like a puppy and the rain droplets spray everywhere.
Tiny pine bent over, captured in snow
The Annishnabe, or Ojibway, call this moon “The Snow Crust Moon” or “Walk on Top of Snow Moon”. It’s so lovely to sprint across the top of snow, especially after a long winter. This evening the rain showers prevent effortlessly frozen crunching atop snow, but it’s so compressed one only sinks in several inches. No snowshoes needed.
I thought of the full moon rising over this entire planet tonight. Everywhere, people sit outdoors and watch the full white orb ascend into the heavens. In Somalia a family sits by a campfire, perhaps eating a chicken dish called bariis, with basamiti rice flavored with cinnamon and cardamon. A man in Ecuador tends a flock of sheep and munches patacones, fried bananas. There is a hungry child in Iraq tonight, listless eyes following the moon’s rising, dreaming of food. A wealthy family in Japan eats sushi on the balcony, deeply admiring the moon shadows.
Under the full moon (whether we can see it or not) we are all one people, one world. The moon rises on all of us, rich or poor, healthy or sick, sad or happy. The moon has often been seen as a symbol of feminine energy, bringing intuitive, deep, psychic, and subtle gifts to us.
Because it has different phases, its energy is interpreted in different ways. The full moon represents illumination, the unconscious becoming conscious within us. The crescent moon suggests new beginnings, and making dreams into realities.
Fungus glistening in snow and rain
One moon, one world. I pray that someday we’ll be able to find harmony, to hold hands with one another, to find common ground with everyone we meet. I pray the full moon guides us along the path to love and peace.
What do you notice first in this photo? The snow or the melted earth?
Today, opening the front door, peering out into the marvelous outdoors, I looked around. Still ninety percent of the landscape lies covered in snow. Snowdrifts, deep snow, shallow snow, melting snow…but still, snow…
I decided the theme of the day should be photographing melted areas of snow. Focusing on the ground, the soil, in its limited appearance. Enough concentrating on snow! Let’s discover the melted areas.
Exhibit A. Look under trees, especially trees in open areas.
At this time of year, it’s auspicious to find sides of buildings, roads or trees where the sun shines with greater intensity from the south. A patch of earth reveals itself covered with dried leaves, trampled-down undergrowth, needles or rocks. (The above tree was my daughter’s fort in pre-school. She spent hours hunkered down beneath the branches playing with stuffed animals, her toys spread out on the stones.)
Driveway melting, thanks to the snowplow scraping snow away
Speaking of memories from years back, I have another fond memory of March. When the kids were young’uns, and the south sun heated our deck warmly in the afternoon, we sometimes put on our bathing suits and sunned on beach towels. I kid you not. Fifty degrees felt tropical to us in those days. Our skin soaked up that Vitamin D from the sun and we felt like summer lurked just around the corner.
These days the thought of putting on a bathing suit and sunbathing on the deck seems a little “out there”, but who knows? If it ever heats up into the 50′s maybe I’ll try it, just for the sake of this outdoor commitment, of course.
south side of a tree, can you tell?
I’m wondering right now if the rest of the country is mostly snow-less. If it’s only us extreme northerners in the United States who can still snowshoe and ski? Besides the mountains, of course. Add northern Minnesota and Wisconsin, North Dakota, Montana and Idaho in the mix and maybe Carla over there in Maine (Carla? Still snow in Maine?) I’ll bet there’s plenty of folks in the south planting seeds in the earth.
and finally, lovely driveway gravel, up close
The deer have returned from the cedar swamp!
Yesterday afternoon the deer ambled up the driveway toward the oak tree. We often toss out scraps of vegetables for them to eat, but they haven’t been around regularly recently. When the snow gets too deep and temperatures plummet, they bed down in the cedar swamp. Therefore, it was a pleasure to see the mom and her yearlings approach near the house again.
Then I noticed the mama was limping badly. It was Lempi! Remember hearing about Lempi from an earlier blog? We named her a couple years ago. She was hit by a car, or somehow injured, and limps terribly. We worried about her making it through the winter. But it looks like she survived! Unfortunately, her front leg looks pretty bad now. But she’s still alive and moving and rummaging beneath the oak tree for scraps.
They didn’t stay long. I took a photo shoot, they munched for awhile, then took off through the woods. Hasn’t this been the week for wildlife on this blog? Just when I thought “we never see animals around here lately”…this week we’ve glimpsed lake trout, eagle, chickadees, nuthatches, blue jays, woodpeckers, ravines, porcupine, squirrel and deer. Let’s see what else presents itself in the upcoming week.
I have a delicate subject to broach, considering the above photo. It involves killing. Animals. Specifically, deer. Do you know that the traditional Native Americans prayed before they killed an animal? They talked to its spirit, apologizing, entreating the animal to share of himself with the hungry hunter and his clan.
After killing the animal, the family attempted to utilize every bit of the deer for sustenance. Nothing was wasted, if possible. The meat filled the belly, the hide was tanned into clothing, the antlers made into tools, the toes tied together to wear around the ankles while dancing. Traditional hunters believed that if the Great Spirit provided sustenance, to waste would be unthinkable.
I like that attitude. I like when it’s possible to utilize scraps and tidbits, to recycle, to think about the Earth in a sacred way instead of easily tossing things in the garbage. I like to live as simply as possible (although that doesn’t always work…but it’s an ideal.)
Today we had a little incident in the driveway. Just before I went outside for my walk. Barry sort of…well…slipped and fell. Not once, but twice. I told you the driveway was a skating rink! (Are you wondering what this has to do with the sacred utilization of all parts of the deer? Please read on…)
So what did we do?
Barry spreads wood ashes over ice on driveway
We carried our buckets of ashes from the woodstove and sprinkled the ashes over the driveway ice. Result? You can now walk on the driveway without slipping and sliding and falling. One drawback: the ash tends to track into the house, so it’s necessary to take off shoes or boots immediately upon entering.
I like the thought that we’re using all of the trees, or as much of the trees as possible. We use the logs to as firewood. We use branches and bark and small pieces of wood for kindling. Even the ash, the burned end product of the log, is utilized to keep us upright…
Bright green moss on rotting log
Add to that: trees provide beautiful photo opportunities! Look at that color of green moss growing on that rotting log. Beauty even as the tree decays.
Enter this sacred forest quietly.
OK, we’ve known each other long enough. Especially those of you who have been reading and looking at photos of this outdoor commitment for 77 days now. We’ve developed a relationship of trust, haven’t we? We’re ready to bring our relationship to a new level.
I am going to introduce you to an old friend, a tract of sacred forest known as “Marantha”. (Please do not make fun of people who talk to fish and name forests, please. That’s part of our trusting relationship…) We must be very gentle with this hemlock and cedar forest, we must, for she has lately been…how do I phrase it kindly?…ravished.
How many years ago now did the skidders and loggers and trucks enter beneath the deep green branches and begin to saw away her fine trees? How many years ago did they raze her for lumber and/or pulp to give us our books, our tables, our chairs, our computer paper, our newspapers, our cardboard, our walls, our houses?
I cried for a long time when they harvested all those wonderful trees, beauties under which I used to walk and think and pray and dream. They left behind barely-navigable brush and tops, which for years prevented easy hiking. I’m afraid we never regained our earlier intimacy after the logging. Only now has the underbrush rotted into the earth enough to allow easier wandering.
Shattered remains of tree points to the heavens
This morning I found myself walking into Marantha without even snow pants or snowshoes. Shocking, yes? Enough melting has occurred to condense the snow to several wet inches in forested areas. Of course, there’s traps and holes. So be prepared to get wet if you venture in without being properly dressed!
I remembered a swampy creek-like area with a rotting tree which contains a large hole carved near the base. Years ago, porcupines wintered in this hole. I cheerfully ventured nearby to photograph the hole for your inspection, when…
Are you ready for this photo? Look closely!
The rear end of a frightened porcupine hiding from a frightening human
I snapped two photos quickly, not wanting to scare the little fellow more than necessary. Odd, my brother-in-law just questioned last night: did we see many porcupines? I can’t wait to show him this photo when they arrive home after ice fishing!
There are so many interesting things to look at in the woods. Odd tree angles, stumps, piles of nibbled pine cones, woodpeckers, sunlight filtering through branches, exquisite green moss contrasted with white snow.
Some of my favorite wood-creatures are toppled-over tree stumps. Such as the one below:
Underworld roots beneath fallen tree
I could post about six more photos of Marantha, but will leave you with only one more. Just as I prepared to leave the woods and discover the solid dry road once more, a red squirrel chattered overhead. What a scolding! It glared, made that fierce whirring sound designed to scare away any unsuspecting invaders, and dove down the tree to eat me for lunch. Not really! But witness the Evil Squirrel Eye:
Get on out of here, you human!
Bald eagle bursts out of tree, flying up to the sky
I felt so excited to show you this photo yesterday, but the ice fishing expedition needed discussion first. What do you think of this? The Annishnabe (Ojibway) call this beautiful bird “Migisi”. Once almost extinct and on the Endangered Species List, it has now made a comeback in the United States. For more information about our national bird, follow this link to a Bald Eagle Fact and Information page.
Birds are notoriously hard to photograph. They move so quickly. You focus your camera and they’ve fluttered out of range. You move too close, they fly away. You snap their picture from far away and they look like tiny dots in the sky or tree.
This fellow perched in a tall tree near Second Sand Beach yesterday afternoon. I glimpsed it less than five minutes from our ice fishing rendezvous. I thought, “Should I get out of the car? Of course it will fly away. Of course the camera won’t focus appropriately. Of course….”
Of course one must completely ignore when the Mind starts rambling about why things won’t work. So I grabbed the camera (while backing up the car in good multi-tasking mode) and opened the door. The eagle flapped upward and I snapped the picture. And, miracle of miracle! the photo turned out.
I couldn’t wait to show you.
Signs of spring near the garden
You wouldn’t want to walk in our driveway today. It’s not pleasant. It resembles an ice skating rink. You place your feet very carefully, one cautiously in front of the other. You pause frequently. You know you’re very close to slipping and sliding and tumbling down. You wonder if you should return to the house and attach “creepers” over your boots. Diligent blog readers remember the definition of creepers: attachments one places over boots to assist when walking on ice. Mine have spiral metal coils which dig into the ice, hopefully keeping the walker more upright. When Nancy and I pulled the tent out on Lake Superior’s ice yesterday, we both wore creepers on our boots.
Once you reach the end of the slippery driveway, the main roads look more navigable. They’re mostly ice-free. A few patches here and there. It’s still warm, 42 degrees. Our Georgia company has been blessed with some nice weather. He may come back to visit again in the winter time!
It rained or sleeted earlier this morning. Which, along with the warm temperature,explains the ice skating rink in the driveway. It’s not particularly fun to walk in the woods now, either, as the snow is heavy, wet and slushy. The road is your best bet. Except when you stand too close to the edge, in which case your boots cover rather quickly with a good layer of mud.
Dried stalk of the self-heal plant
Yes, spring is slowly announcing her arrival. Slowly. She’s a leisurely lady around these parts. We’re almost in that in-between season, halfway between Winter and Spring. It usually stretches from March to April and (sigh) sometimes into May. We call it “Mud Season”. Bet you’re looking forward to those muddy pictures coming your way soon…
"Oh Fishy, I'm so sorry to hook you...I'll let you go....you're just a baby...."
Ice fishing Trip #3 this winter for this blog writer. You’re wondering if I’m “hooked”…right? Not yet! But it is getting a bit more fun every trip. Especially today’s venture.
Shall I set the scene for you? Barry and his brother Craig (visiting from Georgia) headed ice-bound about 10 a.m. They pulled their sled off Pequaming out into Keweenaw Bay, auguring holes and testing depths for about an hour or so. They finally set up their tent over 268 feet of water with thirteen inches of ice.
Nancy and I joined them on the ice a little after 3 p.m. We had work and other important chores to do. No time to spend the entire day dangling wire in front of hungry trout, begging them to bite. We pulled her sled through about three or four inches of wet snow. How challenging! I was panting like crazy. We stopped every five minutes until our thumping heartbeats returned to normal.
Georgia boy Craig fishing in the tent
The fellas had three fish when we arrived. All keepers above fifteen inches. We ladies basked in Nancy’s tent with Mr. Heater (a must for any ice fishing trip!) We caught up on years of talk, starting with our children in today’s world and then backtracking to the years when we attended La Leche league meetings about nursing the babies. That’s a lot of talking!
See Nancy in our "home away from home"
Suddenly…what was that? Was that a bite? A nibble? A fish biting on MY hook? (Nancy had caught two to three fish by now…) I yelled, pulled hard on the wire, threw it on the ground and began to pull it up from the bottom of that icy lake. Hand over hand, I threw coils of wire near our feet on the floor of the tent.
Everyone laughed at me, probably because of the yell and enthusiastic string of language which followed. Up came the fish through the hole! It was….not a keeper. Only fourteen inches long. It needed to return to the depths.
The above photo involved me talking to the fish. I kinda fell in love with it. It was kinda….cute. Can you tell? It looked so innocent and sweet. (The other three were laughing and hooting by now as I talked to it for a couple minutes.) We finally put it back down the hole. At first it wouldn’t sink. But finally it swam away, thank goodness.
Can you see why I’m mostly a vegetarian? With a few fish added in occasionally.
About 5:30 p.m. we enjoyed a picnic on the ice. Dinner menu: poached lake trout. Venison sausage (brought by Nancy who made it herself after last year’s hunting season. She’s a “real” sportswoman.) For me: hummus sandwich with spinach and cucumbers. Nancy sportingly nibbled a bite.
A view of the venison sausage so you can feel like you attended the ice fishing picnic:
Everyone enjoyed their venison sandwiches on Hilltop rye bread
Weather report: a beautiful 40 degree afternoon on Keweenaw Bay. When pulling the sled, the snowmobile suit seemed too hot. When sitting in the tent, a little heat proved enjoyable. How much nicer than an ice fishing trip at zero degrees! I’m voting for these warm trips.
And now you may view our catch for the day:
And there you have it....our catch (plus an additional trout later)
All of us enjoyed such a fun afternoon. Fish or no fish, it was still such a pleasure to spend time with family and friends out in the middle of the Keweenaw Bay of Lake Superior.
Picnic tables at the harbor
Today’s blog may prove confusing. Simply because I’m reporting two days of outdoor fun. All the photos come from yesterday’s harbor stroll down in Marquette.
We had an assignment. Pick up Barry’s brother at the airport at 5:51 p.m. He was arriving from Georgia for a five day north woods (mostly ice fishing) adventure via Minneapolis. Most of our little puddle-jumper planes come from Minneapolis or Detroit. Of course his plane was delayed for almost an hour, but that didn’t matter to us. I told Barry we needed to spend more time outdoors while we were in Marquette and take interesting photos. He agreeably complied.
We explored some of Marquette’s interesting nooks and crannies, especially the Lower Harbor. First we walked to Thill’s Market for smelt bait. You tell me: why do we have to visit a fish market to buy fish to catch fish? Hmmm? Does that make sense to you?
Follow that sign to Thill's Fish Market
After we purchased the frozen smelt in a plastic bag, we strolled behind the shop. I suddenly remembered a fellow wordpress blogger, Kim, at A Winter Journal, posted a blog entitled Thill’s Meditation last month. She’s a fantastic photographer; mosey on over and look at her beautiful pictures!
A harbor yacht behind Thill's Market
We continued to stroll (OK, we broke up our stroll for an hour at L’attitude Cafe Bistro for beverages and appetizer. Oh, yum, appetizer! Hummus, olive tapenade and a couscous-feta-dried tomato dip with flatbread and fresh vegetables. The country folk love that city eatin’…we sure do.)
Afterward we viewed the Marquette Yacht Club. I kid you not. This is when you can tell you’re in the Upper Peninsula and not in some fancy yachting area down south…
The Marquette Yacht Club
Before driving south to the airport, we stopped to read a plaque near the following photo. It said the fire bell in the photo warned inhabitants of Marquette of danger since ancient times. (I wondered: how ancient?) Apparently 1882 is considered ancient times, as the bell was cast in Baltimore, MD that year. It pealed fire warnings until the mid 1950′s when the Telephone began to peal fire warnings. (You’re wondering how I remembered this, right? I took a picture of the plaque!)
If your home caught fire in 1928 in Marquette, this bell rang!
We stopped at the food co-op before the airport, picked up Craig (who marveled at the snow drifts and quickly searched for his winter jacket in his suitcase) then returned to the city for a delicious dinner at Vierling’s Restaurant. I was too full from the appetizers to eat more than a cup of whitefish soup.
Today’s outdoor adventure: I snoozed under the spruce tree, sitting on a cushion. It was near 40 degrees and dozens of chickadees and nuthatches dived and chirped and fluttered and scattered sunflower seed shells. After a half hour, they adopted me as one of their own and almost landed on the silent blob of green and white. Actually, they may have thought I was a tree. Such a relaxing way to spend the afternoon. Remember, I told you I was going to spend days of this outdoor commitment sitting underneath that spruce tree!
How high is that roof? Relative to what?
Sit down. Are you ready for this? I am about to explain the theory of relativity to you.
If you believed that one, you’re at the wrong blog! What I’d like to discuss today in the theory of weather relativity. Temperature relativity, to be precise.
As I was wandering around outside this morning, with the temperature warmed up to a toasty 20 degrees (soared upwards from a frigid seven below zero) I marveled at the warmth. Tropical. Comfortable. Almost time to shed the heavy warm winter coats for lighter fleece jackets. Forget snow pants! Forget toasty-warm mittens and neck warmer! It’s balmy.
Now take a fellow from Georgia who comes to visit Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. He lands in this balmy 20 degree day and do you think “balmy” is the word he’ll use to describe it? (He actually might when he arrives on the plane tonight as there’s been SNOW in Georgia this week, but we’re discussing ordinary March Georgia weather behavior….)
A person arriving to our snow-covered land from 50-70 degree temperatures is NOT thinking 20 degrees is toasty. His body may be shivering. He may be bundling up in the warmest possible attire. He may be thinking he’s reached the North Pole.
How could two perceptions be so different? Same temperature. One thinks it’s warm; the other knows it’s cold. Therein lies the theory of temperature relativity: the body adjusts to whatever temperature occurs in the particular climate where it lives.
People in Alaska probably think seven below is tropical after a cold stretch at 40 below. They’re probably wearing shorts to the post office at zero. (I still wish I had that photo of the guy wearing shorts to the post office back in December…)
Do we believe this huge mitten in downtown Hancock?
I’m suddenly thinking of trips down to Florida. Especially my first trip in second or third grade. We flew into Miami in the middle of the night. Unsuspecting, we stepped off the plane, walked through the terminal and opened the door. Sultry hot temperature immediately infused throughout our entire beings. Our bodies gasped with the shock of it. Then, melted completely. It was as if we stepped from a freezer into a furnace. Yet the furnace didn’t burn…it suffused with delightful warmth and pleasure.
I still feel that during middle-of-the-winter trips to Florida. Not with such intensity. But it’s still present. It feels like we northerners burrow deep within during winter months. We’re not even fully aware of what deep internal insulation we carry. We’re not fully aware of our body’s work to protect itself from ice and snow and cold. Until, suddenly, we’re standing in 70 or 80 degrees and wearing shorts and sleeveless t-shirts and feeling like we’re shedding layers and layers and layers. We remember Summer as a body-sensation.
Hmmmm, do I sound like I’m dreaming of summer? Just when I’m trying to explain to you how tropical twenty degrees felt this morning? It’s all relative, dear reader, it’s all relative…
P.S. just picked up that relative from Georgia at the airport in Marquette. Barry’s brother-in-law is here for five days of ice fishing. Hope he enjoys the “balmy” weather…
Leftover radish seed from last year
We should be contemplating our gardens now, shouldn’t we? Thinking about buying seeds or possibly planting starters in our sunny windows. That’s what good gardeners do in March, don’t they? Start thinking about everything garden-related with great intensity, planning and dreaming of rows of plants fluttering in the July breeze.
Even when the snow measures deeper than a four foot ruler in places, we all know garden season waits just around the corner. Some of us actually move into action, leafing through seed catalogs or ordering Heritage or organic seeds.
We must be gardener failures, because we always end up buying our seeds at the last minute from local stores. We hurriedly grab this and that, that and this, off the racks without too much contemplation, although we’re particularly happy when we discover organic seeds.
We hurriedly pencil in a list of last year’s crop before going to the store: (let me so how many I can remember) carrots, lettuces (2-3 varieties), beets, peas, onions, beans, zuchini, radish, leek, squash (as many kinds as we can find), brocoli, kale, collards, peppers (green & hot), tomatoes, brussel sprouts, cucumber, cilantro, basil, parsley. I’m probably forgetting some of the basic ones. Which is why a list comes in handy.
We buy some seeds and some fledgling plants. During the past many years of gardening we’ve figured out what grows well and what doesn’t. Every year certain crops struggle or wither or pout because the conditions aren’t optimal for ideal growing. It can be heart-breaking to watch cucumbers shrivel on the vine. Or delightful acorn squash. Or sturdy brussels begin to topple. Such sadness ensues as one realizes the harvest might not include everything one loves!
However, there’s always enough. Except for that year (15-20 years back) when the deer ate every last thing in the garden. Every last thing. Even the bitter tomato vines. The next year we bought an electric fence and we’ve been protecting our turf like crazy. How I hated that fence when it first arrived! It reminded me of Gestapo concentration camps. I protested mightily…but enjoyed the harvest in equal proportions that following autumn. We’ve come to a reluctant true, that fence and I.
Garden shovel and stakes (for marking rows) sit ready in the snow
See the shovel and stakes in the garden? The shovel was utilized earlier in the winter to bury fish guts. Yes. Until my husband determined the garden couldn’t digest any more fish innards without destabilizing the soil composition.
We do use a compost bin, tossing in scraps of vegetables and fruit and other kitchen refuse. At some point the entire heap is worked into the garden, helping to enrich the soil. Let me see if there’s a compost box picture for you to view.
Our not particularly beautiful compost bin
As spring and summer settle in, there’s always the question of garden moisture. Too much rain or not enough? Luckily, we have a hose which assists in watering. Unluckily, we do not have an abundant supply of water in our well.
The mighty hose
That’s about enough thinking for this early in the season! We have Time. Lots of time before the sun melts away all this snow and the garden begins to look ready for its spring tilling. Those in southern climates may be anticipating planting soon, but we’re in for a long wait. Maybe I should look for Heritage seeds this year!!
