Third Winter

 

Last week, there was some serious lobbying to go outside during class. The sun was out and the temperature was in the fifties, which is pretty darn nice by Oregon standards for early March.  I am often susceptible to pleas to read outside; I want to be out as much as the next person.

“We neeed to go out, Ms. Ellis,” they implored. “It’s so nice and you know Third Winter is coming.”

It’s true. Third Winter is coming. In the Willamette Valley we have First Winter, from November to late December, where the days are growing shorter and the clouds are low. But First Winter is improved because of Christmas lights which go on in mid-November and stay on until ….well, there are still some on now.  And there is Winter Break. And the hope of a snow and ice day. And presents. Then there is Second Winter, which starts when school begins again and is plagued by sniffles, colds, flu, and the end of the semester. It rains and drizzles and no one wants to go out ever. Not even the cat. It’s grim. But, the light is slowly coming back and the snowdrops bloom. We can handle it.  Barely.

 Third Winter is the worst. Early March teases us with dry, clear, warm days. Buds swell. We go out to read in the sun.  Gardeners clean out old beds, plant seeds, and monitor the soil for warmth and moisture. There is hope. Then Third Winter hits, usually the week of Spring Break. The sweatshirt you have worn every day all winter is dingy and unappealing, so you leave it home and shiver in the morning instead.  It’s cold and rainy and the clouds are low. There’s hail. Downpours. Creeks flood.  Anything that you foolishly planted out sits in the ground, dodging slugs, and refuses to grow. Third Winter is the worst.

This year, I have been struggling with this knowledge.  For some reason, I am ahead in the garden. I have turned and prepped four beds—the early peas and leeks and parsnips bed, the spring greens bed, and both potato beds.  The starts in the greenhouse are bursting with life. The peas, especially, are ahead of the growth curve, dying to be planted out. “It’s only four feet,” they call to me. “Four feet away, on the other side of the greenhouse wall, is our bed. You even put the strings up!”  Like a bunch of sophomores on a sunny Friday afternoon, they clamor for release.  It is perfect pea planting weather. But….there are no volunteer potatoes up yet, a real sign that the soil is warming. And, after  thirty years here, I know that Third Winter is coming.  We will wait. At least another week.