That’s right. Bring it on, baby.
I have a month’s worth of groceries, a snow shovel and plenty of work and projects to keep me busy. It’s a good thing too because we’re not going anywhere anytime soon. Do you see our driveway? No, I don’t either.
What I thought was eight inches of snow is probably more like 12 or 14. And it’s still coming down. I just returned from a little mercy mission to clear the bird feeders and sprinkle around some whole peanuts and black oil sunflower seed. The birds practically landed on my shoulders they were so happy to see me.
The chickens are just fine in their insulated and heated coop. But they were confused when I opened their window to the world and there were no colors out there—just white. I figure they’ll get tired of looking out in a while and I’ll go back and close the window.
For little dogs, Sarah and Sophie adore the snow. They hop around like bunnies—well, at least until they get bogged down. So this morning’s exercise was some aerobic snow shoveling for a small potty path.
The East Coast is getting pounded. If you’re in our part of the world I hope you’re safe, warm and have plenty of interesting things to keep you busy today.
Robin
When I was in my 20s, I imagined a glamorous career that took me to big cities and beautiful places. I wanted to experience the world via planes, trains and automobiles, rub elbows with famous people and dine at chic restaurants, clinking glasses with witty and interesting people.
That’s not exactly how it worked out. Oh, there is plenty of travel. But as you know, travel isn’t all that glamorous anymore.
Airports are among the most unhealthy places in the country, over-crowded by hurried and often distraught travelers, abysmal, heart-attack-inspiring food, mind-numbing delays and nowhere to sit. Big-city cabs are atrocities on wheels. They smell terrible and there is always a spring in the seat sticking up into my bum. More than once I have questioned my good judgment for getting into a car with one of these dangerous and dangerous-looking men.
A good hotel can be a small oasis of sanity, but it’s still a hotel. And you don’t get to pick your neighbors. How many amorous couples, giggling girls and drunken good-old-boys have I had to share a wall with? Yes, I am the kill-joy who knocks on the door at 2 a.m. and explains that she has to get up at 5:30 a.m. for work.
To travel, I must also leave the serenity and quiet of my country home. I have put the care of my little dogs and pet chickens and the watering of my fragile container plants in the hands of my husband and son. God only knows what devastation occurs while I’m gone and gets tidied up before I find out about it.
And while I’m enduring airline delays and munching on stale sandwiches with the other weary travelers, I always think about what I’m missing at home—tons of vegetables that should be picked, weeds plotting world domination, flowers blooming and fading. There are also the peaceful surroundings and views, such as this serendipitous view through the garden gate. (Don’t these two mourning doves look like they were sent from central casting and told to look like lovebirds?)
Mourning doves prettily perch on the garden bench. They kindly waited while I snapped their photo.
Although the travel isn’t easy, I will admit though that the people are worth the effort. For example, among other recent travels, I headed to Chicago for the Garden Bloggers Spring Fling, where I had a fabulously good time rubbing elbows with some of the most interesting people I know–other garden bloggers.
“So where are all your fabulous photos from Spring Fling?” you ask.
Well, it seems that since I live in a rural area and don’t get to socialize all that much with other gardeners, I completely lost my head and forgot to take photos. Oh yes, I have a few photos from the Chicago Botanic Garden and a few other places, but not so many of my old and new gardening friends. So if you weren’t there yourself, head on over to the official Spring Fling website and see who was there.
Next year our Spring Fling will be in Buffalo, New York. Will someone please remind me to stop talking and take some photos?
Some of My Recent Examiner Posts:
Easy homemade pita bread
Using flowers to beautify the vegetable garden
Must-have plants: Baby Blue Eyes
Great ideas: Make an edible flower tower
Robin
I know I’m not alone when I say that I detest the winter season. It has only gotten worse in the past few years. In fact, since I have enthusiastically embraced the green living lifestyle, my contempt for winter has become a bit of an obsession. I may have to become one of those silver-haired snowbirds.
The thermostats are turned down and we have resorted to means other than our heat pumps to keep warm. It doesn’t always work, I should add.
I have gotten so cold that I have resorted to wearing those incredibly lightweight but warm Patagonia capilene long underwear most days. While mall shopping a few weeks ago I was tickled to find cashmere fingerless gloves that I can wear while typing. I bought two pair. And Brookstone had Tempurpedic slippers that I tuck my feet into at my desk. They pretty much park there because they are too clumsy to walk around in.
But winter is not without its rewards.
Last month, in the middle of winter on a particularly frigid day, I had the electrician here swapping out one set of programmable thermostats for ones that I can actually understand how to program. As we were chatting, I glanced out the front door and stopped mid-sentence.
A group of six Eastern Bluebirds was exploring the Purple Martin gourds that I have procrastinated moving in for the winter.
I watched, transfixed, as they moved in and out of the gourds and perched on the support poles. Once I regained my senses, I scrambled for my camera and long lens to take photos. Then I grabbed my Sibley guide to see whether it’s that unusual to see bluebirds here in November.
Apparently, it’s not unheard of for groups of bluebirds to stay northward and nest together rather than heading for warmer quarters. Margaret at A Way to Garden said she has even seen them near her New York home in winter.
Sadly, they didn’t stick around, so I’m still going to have to store those Purple Martin gourds.
In the meantime, I’m keeping a keen eye out for the potential return of Evening Grosbeaks. The Winter King Hawthorns that line the driveway near our house are loaded with the fat, red berries that attracted a flock of them last winter.
I only hope I am looking out the windows when they arrive. It’s my small consolation for having to dress like an Eskimo in my own home.
Robin
