On the one hand, there are no weeds or bugs. And on the other: no plants or vegetables, no hands in soil, sun on face, or summer breeze on skin. These winter crops of mine grow so well in my head—perfect specimens of how it should be done. A prizewinning pumpkin here, broccoli with no worms there. And taste these peas; just about the sweetest I’ve ever grown. Can’t believe how perfect the potatoes are, either. And who’d have known I could grow such delicious zucchini.
One of the nice things about working in web is that I can work from home without losing too much access.
Last week when all this snow happened, here I was, safe and sound, upstairs in my make-shift home office.
Last week while driving home from work, I saw something strange yet familiar in the clouds ahead.
Wait…could it be?
Yes, it is.
Richard Nixon in a cloud.
It’s just about the dead middle of winter. I’ve been paging through seed catalogs, dreaming about planting peas, wondering how I’ll do my potatoes this year.
But here’s the thing: We’re looking to buy a house, my wife and I. We have a daughter who’s 2 and half, and we’re expecting a baby in May. Our house, however nicely situated in the world with its privacy and open space, is about to get too small, and it’s already too expensive to heat.
So my where does this leave my garden? Do I start seeds, do I prepare myself mentally for the spring, knowing full well that we might move and leave it all behind?
Yes. Of course I do. I’ll order my seeds. I’ll start them in the basement. I’ll plant my peas on St. Patty’s Day, I’ll plant my taters on Good Friday (actually, I just looked at the calendar and Good Friday is really late this year, so I’ll get the taters in sooner), and I’ll get things ready the way I always do. It’s part of who I am. I garden.