The garden is buried in several inches of hay and I'm still zipped up in my down coat.I'm aching for barefoot weather but it will be a month before even the hardiest plants (the Brassicacae family) will be ready to go outside and another month still for more tender things like melons.
Every winter I say "I'm not going to tolerate another New England winter, as soon as tomato season is over, I'm out of here!" But the summer is so gorgeous that the intoxication never wears off until it's too late to make a break for the west coast before snowfall.
So I find myself here, still, buried in goose feathers, begging the universe for an early thaw, compiling charts, calendars and maps, tucking hundreds of tiny seeds into hundreds of tiny holes, waiting.
No comments:
Post a Comment