How, you might ask, do I garden in the deep cold, January winter of Maine? With my vivid imagination, serious forward thinking, and daily trips to my chicken coop, I will answer.
In my vegetable garden, the stalks of brussel spouts stand stark against the snowy back drop, nibbled, and then chomped down by the deer. The compost pile emerges from the snow occasionally showing the straw and seaweed topper from the fall. And the apples and cherry trees reach their overgrown fingers out towards the sky in any direction they can find.
Yes, I am sometimes holed up and drawn into the seed catalogs and glossy pictures of gardening magazines, here in the dead of winter. But I am also out daily to gaze longingly at the sky, count the increasing day light hours, and pray for a sunny day.
I long to trim the crab apple that scratches at my bedroom window on windy winters nights. I ache to get the pruning shears deep into the tangled top and clear it out to see the sun shine a little brighter each day. My hands itch to trim down the rosa rugosas covered with morning frost, just a few swipes of the cutter. My shoulders ache for the weight of the cutter as I reach far above my head to trim the burning bushes that grow eight feet tall, in the middle of the perennial garden. I longingly watch the wind blowing the left over hydragea blossoms that stand guard by my old well cover.
And on days like today when the ice slides off the roof in sheets and my feet sink in the snow that squishes like grapes, I can almost hear the sap starting to run and the creeks to gurgle with the babble of spring. I fear I may be too late, perhaps the trees are waking up and their dormant period is over!
No, it is only the January thaw before the February freeze. I will stow my clippers until another day. I will sharpen my spade by my warm fire, oil my loppers till they gleam and use my imagination to plan my late winter foray out into the promising gardens of tomorrow.