Just You Wait

Every year in the fall, I bring in the houseplants, plants that are experiments, and sometimes plants that are mysteries ( no one in the house acknowledges that they are theirs). Then I light up the banks of daylight LED’s, and grow lights and tend my indoor garden. Somewhere around this time of January, with snow blanketing my outdoor garden, its indoor counterpart becomes essential.

There I am, a grey snowy day on the outside, but bright and sunny inside. It seems as though the organs in my body demand this lightening of the gloom.

Next week we’ll hit peak. I won’t be able to take it anymore, and I’ll pull out all the garden and seed catalogs. I’ll carefully wallow in the bright colors and recollections of warmth. But I won’t order, not yet. I have to cogitate my veritabilities, digest all on offer, and make budgets. I’ll wrap in layers, poke my nose out, and view my prospects. Then I’ll order.

After ordering, I’ll start gathering and preparing for seed starting. When seeds arrive, I’ll prep and plant, watch and coax.

Sometimes these rituals can take through to the time for me to start tapping my maples, and boiling sap for maple syrup.

It’s these tiny rituals that see me through the New England winter, into our perverse New England spring. Well, it’sNew England, what else can I say?