Winter is a disappointing time of the year for me as a gardener. It’s supposed to be a respite from weeding, a time for planning next year’s garden, reviewing successes and failures, and reading garden porn in the form of magazines and seed catalogues. The wait for the snow to disappear in the spring can be interminable. Each day of teasing sunshine slowly melting away the blanket covering the gardens and paths, the drifted edges retreating from the walls of the garage and the house.
The deck is freed from the snow’s reach first because of its location against the house and southern exposure. As spring settles in and temps get to double digits, Mad Cy and I will sometimes sit a few minutes in the sun sipping morning coffee. Like lizards basking on rocks, we soak in the sun’s warmth and comment on how wonderful it is to be. Be alive. Healthy. Able to enjoy time with grandkids. Able to travel. Grateful for our little bungalow, food on the table, and for me, a garden to grow food and beauty.