Saturday Chores

 

The weather report read  heavy rain on Sunday, so we spent all of Saturday outside. First, we walked to the market, had some excellent chats, and bought the vegetables for the week. Then, when we came home, we went outside, without even stopping for lunch. Mark worked on compost. I cleaned up.

·         Transplanted several small plants I’ve been rooting inside.

·         Watered all of the starts and adjusted the lights so they would not wake Mark up in the morning.

·         Cleaned up the area around the recently remodeled and planted rose bed.

·         Pulled nails from the rotten wood and tossed it into the compost area.

·         Moved large and small bricks back to the storage area in the chicken run.

·         Turned over the first bed so that the organic matter would break down faster and moved the hoops over so that I can start drying it out in a week or so.

·         Cleaned up the strawberries in the wheelbarrows; they were surrounded by dead and rotting foliage and needed some air to breath.

·         Moved empty garden barrels around.

·         Trimmed some branches for vases in the house. 

When I was finished, I came inside, took one look at the very messy kitchen, and put my boots back on. There was clearly a storm coming on, but it hadn’t started yet. I grabbed the second pair of trimmers and headed back to the compost piles. Working together, while the wind rose around us, Mark and I  trimmed the ENTIRE pile of branches into the rings. There is no plant matter waiting to be composted at this precise moment. It’s won’t last of course, but, as the rains began, we felt like we had accomplished something major. 

Snow Days

 

Snow Days.

When I was young, living in New England, I dreamed of snow days. When a blizzard moved in, I fell asleep to the sound of the plows out, clearing the roads. If they lost the battle, my mother and I turned on the radio at 5:30 to listen to the list of closures, read in alphabetical order. Hampstead was a third of the way down the list; Pinkerton Academy was much further—and the decisions was not always the same.  My mother remembered the radio just saying “all schools in all towns are closed today” which was more efficient, but lacked the drama of the long list. Now, the district sends out a robo call at 6:25  and then posts the information on the website. I lie in bed, listen to the weather, and hope.  A Snow Day,  for teachers, is a gift from the Weather Gods. And I treat it as such (we’ll have to scramble to make up the time later, so there’s no point in doing school work).

 

Thursday was a Snow Day. This was my day.

·         Muffins for breakfast.

·         Second mug of tea, with the cat, watching the birds at the feeder. Bluebirds came through. The birds got a second coop of seed; it was cold out.

·         Finished a book.

·         Washed all of the great grandmother’s dishes that are on the open shelves in the kitchen. They were covered in dust.

·         Swept the basement. De-sprouted the potatoes.

·         Cleaned the kitchen, getting a jump on the weekend.

·         Read the news online.

·         Walked downtown to escort Mark home.

·         Spent an hour looking at bills in the legislature in preparation for the Council committee meeting, which we had online.

·         Made dinner.

·         Watched an episode of the Great British Bakeoff with the cat.

·         Went to bed, hoping, not for a snow day, but a late opening, which is what happened.

The key to a good Snow Day is completing a project or two that would not get done in the normal flow of things, balanced with time spent just staring out the window, watching the weather. I have it down.

 

 

 

 

Seed Starting in Cold Times

 

                It has been a colder than usual few weeks; there was a week and a half of bright clear sun and cold nights, followed by a week that threatened “Wintry Mix” but never quite followed through. Because of this, all of the outdoor plants are in the greenhouse or the dining room and all of the greenhouse plants have come into the house. It’s a bit crowded everywhere.

                Last Sunday was Candlemas. We took a long walk—without threatened rain—finished up the pruning, and planted greens in front of the fire. But, it was too chilly to move them out to the greenhouse, even with mats, so they have been living on a drying rack in the Cozy room for the last week. Kale, mustard, arugula, lettuce, leeks, early cabbage, celery, broccoli, and cauliflower, plus pansies. I planted extra, just in case and so we can share.  They are all sprouting now and starting to lean towards the light, reminding me that, even though the groundhog saw his shadow, spring will come. Until then, I am checking NOAA weather, hoping for a break in the cold so that the starts can leave the house. They need the light; we need the space.