With eggnog cartons long discarded and snow piled on the peonies, winter has settled in. There was no doubt of it this morning with a waking temperature of 4 degrees under a clear sky. Wood needed to be split and piled but I waited until it reached the balmy temperature of 20 before venturing outside. Even with little wind, just moving caused the skin to burn and tighten. The leaves on the rhododendrons have drooped as much as they could in reaction to the cold; they are nature’s thermometers as their leaves rise and fall with the temperature.
My cold frames are cold and lifeless. At these temperatures, the greens look like dehydrated seaweed washed up on shore. The tops of the radishes are collapsed. I may not get another harvest for quite a while. The only solace is that some of the wilted greens should pop up in March as an early snack for my granddaughter and me.
In deep cold the sounds are different. The snow crunches and crackles underfoot. The thud of wedges going into wood is a soft rather than a sharp sound. It gives off a muffled crunch as it is attacked by the maul. Ice hangs off the wood and house the formation of which was due to a brief dalliance with above freezing weather. I think I’ll go inside to peruse the seed catalogs.
