|The foot of Blueberry Hill Road, about a mile from where I grew up|
That translates to pretty much nada, zip, zilch, goose eggs in my garden. The inadvertent Queen of the Underworld surely was fibbing a bit when she revealed she had eaten just six pomegranate seeds. I think in central Wisconsin we typically pick up the slack on that fib with 7, 8, or sometimes even 9 months of Winter.
|Boxelders, ash, maples, and oaks covered in rime; English has as many words for ice and snow as any Inuit.|
|The random white pine covered in rime; white pines are often planted in rows running north and south as wind breaks. |
When these pines were small the corner of this hill was drifted shut more often than not.
With the promised cold, this weekend I will hibernate. I will binge watch Netflix. I will hopefully decide what flowers I really have room to add to my garden (the eternal dilemma) and buy seed. I will organize papers for taxes, I will clean. I will start some sprouts.
Even given this burst of winter fury, our Winter has really only begun after the first week of January. If we see bare ground and balmy days by Spring Equinox, it will have been a short-lived sojourn with Haides for Persephone this year.
Hope y'all haven't worn out your seed catalogs yet. And perhaps pomegranates are not a good choice, just saying Persephone. Just saying...