Winter Again, Winter Still
Cottony tufts of snow dot and adorn every notch and crotch in the trees we live among on this fine mid-February morning. Words fall short, though “enchanting” comes pretty close. While my back was turned to the south window of the studio-guest room-home office yesterday afternoon, the skies shook loose a steady shower of snowflakes that were determined to barely touch each other upon landing. Gravity held them gently as they built themselves into airy see-through mounds on every available surface. All of our feeders and birdhouses now sport top hats of chilled fluff and I’ve swept off the porch four times. No trip into town for the farmers market this weekend. I can scarcely find our car.
Two weeks ago, it was sixty degrees. A flock of robins hopped and bounced across the lawn and I saw a solitary dandelion thinking she’d get the party started for the season we all love. “Fool’s Spring”, they call it, and we skip to the nearest hardware store in search of potting soil, mulch and petunia seedlings for around the apple tree out front. But the rolling plant racks are bare and folded up against the wall, and snowblowers still take up most of the entryway’s real estate. We sigh and pick up new gardening gloves (we always need those) and wander over to the paint section with its brightly colored swatches looking like tiny rectangular flowers. Back at home, scarves and fleece-lined boots will stay put for now by the door and we’ll thumb through the seed catalogues one more time in case we missed a new tomato variety.
Friday’s return to a winter we never really left took too many of us by surprise. I rarely look at a forecast anymore with a hybrid remote work schedule that only pulls me into the city two days a week. Stepping outside to feed and release the chickens is easily managed without a lot of wardrobe planning. If I’m over or underdressed for that, it will only last as long as it takes me to trudge back up the driveway to the house. But two weeks of almost jacketless temperatures lulled us into a false spring start and now those same robins looked confused as they perch in the bare branches, their thin feathered shoulders hunched against the north’s stiff wind. Where did the grass go? No one wants to peck through the snow to eat a frozen worm.
We’ve got a few more weeks of this, my friends, no matter what that groundhog in Pennsylvania says. And no guarantees that it won’t snow for a minute in April as we’re setting out the cabbage seedlings. Kale can handle that kind of a weather gear shift but we’ll be babying the tomato starts until we’re sure they can establish themselves without fear of a smack down frost. Until then, it’s snow and fifteen degrees for a while. With the space heater going in the studio and bookbinding supplies spread out on the worktable, I’ll get by.
