In New England, you never feel that Winter has arrived until it snows. Cold is always expected but until the brown and gray ground is covered with the first blanket of clean, white snow, Winter is just a date on the calendar.
A layer of snow on the ground is proof that the temperature is below freezing and the cold will allow this new cloak to persist. The skeletons of the garden are now donned with a form-fitting fabric giving them a girth many have not seen since they shed their leaves months ago. Their bodies are distinctly outlined in white for everyone to see and examine.
The Buddha by the front door appears stoic in the cold with melting snow tearing from its eyes. But the cries and laughter of neighboring children building snowmen and forts counteracts my perceived sense of melancholy.
Shoveling is always part of snow’s aftermath and I carefully remove it from my cold frames so that the lettuce and greens underneath will be given the opportunity to re hydrate and find their way into dinner salads for Juana and me.
I am not the only one seeking nourishment: the birds are attacking the feeders intensely given that the ground is now covered. The plentiful seeds of yesterday are now gone. There is still, however, a ready supply of water for them to sample regardless of the temperature. It’s the least I can do this cold winter for my avian friends.
