I took these two videos this morning of the snow. This one was taken looking out the family room window.
This one was taken from the screened-in back porch. Izzy and Molly have cameo appearances. (Molly hasn’t left my side since I’ve been sick. She is truly my own personal Florence Nightingale.)
I recently started reading “The Wild Gardener” by Peter Loewer. Not sure why it took me so long to read this when I have had it for a few years. It is mentioned by horticulturalists, naturalists, and garden writers as being one of their most influential books. It is not at all what I thought it would be and has been thoroughly entertaining. I don’t want to say too much about it since I will blog about it once I’m finished, but there was a part that I read last night that made me long for spring.
“Every spring when the late snows are over, the high winds that break tree limbs subside, the rains that rival those of Ranchipur cease, and the water doesn’t freeze in the birdbath every night, we gardeners go out into the garden to garden. Usually, whatever day we choose turns out to be rather dismal. But it gives us a chance to putter about in the muck and think about that day soon to come that the weather forecaster will, in the nightly recap, call one of the year’s best.
In most of Canada, in the great Northwest, down to Georgia, west to California, and north to Alaska, that fabled day – usually the end of April and the beginning of May – dawns with a glory not seen since the previous fall. We don our boots, take up spades and shovels, grasp our sturdy rakes, unwind the hose, and go out into the sunshine.”
That is what I am thinking about today as I lie in bed feeling like utter crap and looking at more snow falling. I am looking forward to that day that I can walk out into the sunshine with shovel in hand and get back to what makes me feel alive, well and at peace.