Winter is here.
It has been here for a few months.
Locals tell me that I am still in for a couple more months with highs in the single digits.
Is it just me, or is there a glint of glee in their eyes as they promise that January is worse than December and oh, don’t even let them start on February! Shadenfreuda.
I cope by dreaming of our garden. Obsessing is probably more accurate.
Scattered throughout the house are gardening magazines, hardcover library books on vegetable gardening, and even books that wax philosophical on gardening (Second Nature by Micheal Pollan). My various Pinterest boards dedicated to green things growing expand daily – how did I end up with 5 different boards all about yards/gardens? Always by my side is my faithful garden notebook where I can draw new plot designs and jot down helpful hints.
Sometimes I glance up from a glossy picture of a perfect potager garden and the image stays with me as I stare at the snow, a shadowy image of green cast over the bleak lawn.
No matter how our garden actually turns out this year, whether the weather is ideal, the pests absent, and our thumbs a glowing green, or we have monsoons and drought, locusts and plagues, this time next year I expect to be looking once more on a white landscape dreaming green garden dreams.
Much to my surprise I am grateful for winter, for the blank canvas it provides and for the fantastical gardens I can paint over the earth with my imagination.