More Than A Month Shy of the Winter Solstice
In our world, it’s time to go to bed. As we prepared for bed, there was a lot to do, and some of it remains, waiting, frozen in place, and under a cover of snow. Before it climbed into bed, the garden put on its pajamas and brushed its teeth; that is, I sprinkled winter rye in the vegetable beds and added a generous blanket of mulching hay. After planting winter garlic and shallots (German and French varieties, appropriate to this November’s 100th anniversary of the First World War armistice), they wriggled their toes under a half-foot of hay.
Sleeping Bulbs
The newly planted trees, shrubs and roses received a covering of mulched cedar. The evergreen shrubs—immature rhododendrons and mountain laurel—will need more: desiccant or burlap (I’m still not sure which, but I know who to ask). The bulbs are buried and covered. It never ceases to amaze when the daffodils come up first in April, then the lilies, peonies and poppies (another nod to the end of the Great War and remembrance).
The Switch
We dragged all of the houseplants from their summer vacation spots into the house in October. Slowly but steadily, Suzy added the deck furniture to the shed, and when she wasn’t doing that, she carried firewood from the woodshed to the three racks handy to the wood stove. She moved the summer equipment back and the snow shovels forward. We carried sweaters, coats, blankets and boots down from the attic and replaced them with containers of light clothing and sandals. The seed starting kit (a special light and a warming pad) has gone to bed in the attic, too.
Let Sleeping Bears Sleep
Have the bears gone to bed? I hope so because our bird feeder is up, filled, and well-attended. The chickadees were the pioneers, followed by nuthatches, blue jays, titmice, a Downey or Hairy Woodpecker (can’t tell the difference), a Red Bellied Woodpecker, and underneath for the fallen seed, a male Cardinal.
Surprise!
Thanks to the new windows and the new front door, the house is easy to put to bed. Everything closes easily and tightly. So, what is left to do? What is left to put to bed? The outdoor pots with herbs were not emptied in time, and the surprise plunge in temperature—even for New England, temperatures in the teens are a surprise in mid-November—froze them in place, turned the soil to iron. Once the temperature rises and the snow melts, I will hurry to empty them and save the ones not cracked open by the cold. There are bags of planting soil travelling in the back of my old Subaru. Destined to fill the cold frame in preparation for early spring planting, they reside in the car, still. A situation easily remedied. And I should have planted more bulbs, but the next possible planting time is the spring.
Time To Go To Bed?
Will we go to bed? Not more than usual. Suzy and I prefer the winter, although snow, ice, and the salted roads are hard on Oscar’s four feet. Although we have help shoveling and plowing, we are seen with shovels in our hands, often. We’ll enjoy the birds and the other wildlife—I spotted a Canadian Lynx in October and a bobcat yesterday—the deer, the elusive fox, and any other wily creatures we’re lucky to see (right time, right place). The house is cozy and the larder is stocked. There will be just the one hint of spring left to maintain: a small collection of cooking herbs in clay pots. Will I treat them well enough so that they live until it’s safe to go outdoors? Time will tell. For now, they’ve gone to bed.
Go To Bed
In her mystery novel The Nine Tailors, Dorothy L. Sayers named the gravedigger Harry Gotobed. There is that type of going to bed, for once and all, certainly. Harry helped the villagers with their final sleeping arrangements.
Our cemetery (https://www.constancegemmett.com/every-every-minute/) closed yesterday to interments until mid-April. Covered in snow last night and the quietest place imaginable, it is the essence of going to bed. Gone to bed, asleep. All of our winter preparation, especially the bulb planting, reminds us that we are here temporarily, and with all the hope in the world, will see the sprouting daffodils in April.