Once again it took longer to suit up in preparation for the trip outside than the actual venture. As I stepped out the door this morning that cold air hit me like a ton of bricks. Even though I had just removed my radio headphones where I was tuned into the latest weather update, I still glanced over at my neighbor Marge’s outside thermometer out of force of habit. I always check it out to see if that device jibes with what the weather folk are saying. It looked right to me. The arrow pointed to -10 degrees and I knew the wind chill factor was -27 degrees. I never noticed how many increments were on the left side of the round face of that thermometer before; in fact, they go all the way to -60 degrees. I hope I am never around to see the needle reach that -60 degree point, for the needle will likely go “boing” as will I. The -10 temp and the double-digit negative wind chill froze my own digits, and despite layering up in double gloves, my fingers were soon frigid and rigid. I must have incurred some frostbite damage at some point in time since my right-hand ring finger and pinky always freeze up and throb within minutes of going out in sub-zero temperatures. Most likely it happened while waiting for the bus.

First, I headed to the garage where the car started right up thank goodness. While waiting for the noxious fumes to clear I looked around out front. Across the street the neighbor’s garden flag with its summery motif was whipping about in the wind, and their over-sized wind chimes clink-clanked with great gusto, as if to sneer at Mother Nature’s frosty cold temps. I glanced at the brilliant sky where the sun was creating some interesting shadow dancing on the stark white snow from a neighboring chimney’s smoky plumes. I heard the warbler making his melodic sounds from a treetop close by, but when I tipped my head to look for him, he was nowhere to be found. Although, I tried to respond in kind to these sweet tweets, I found my ChapStick-coated lips were much too frozen, thus my whistler was out of commission. I didn’t want him to stop singing and fly away, so I sang him a few lines from Pete Seeger’s “Turn, Turn, Turn” to serenade him back. The song was fresh in my mind from the medley of tunes I’d heard several times earlier today in conjunction with the report of the legendary folk singer’s death.

Next, I walked the perimeter of the house, then headed out to the backyard. Like a king looking upon his fiefdom, I inspected my small yard, thinking wryly “Where Have All The Flowers Gone?” Well, they sure are not around here right now. The song has a different meaning entirely, of course, but the title sure is true anyway. As I shivered and surveyed the backyard, I took stock of the garden which is nothing more than a barren wasteland in mid-Winter. It is quite a miracle if you think about it, that the flowers and bushes that are dormant now, in four or five months’ time will be flourishing … at least I hope they will. I am so glad I did not replace my three Butterfly Bushes that I lost during the Winter of 2012-2013. I was so dismayed to go out in the Spring and see they were all dead, when they had been thriving throughout the Fall of 2012 and otherwise healthy when I put the garden to bed. They were a beautiful centerpiece of the yard and a virtual butterfly magnet. I missed them, but decided to wait a year or so in case there was disease of some type in the soil. Planters placed in the empty holes where they had graced the yard, simply didn’t do anything but just sit there. My Nelly Moser clematis is looking not-so-nice and rather bedraggled now that heavy snow has pulled it partially off its trellis. I gently poked my broom over the top of the Clematis to brush off some of the snow which made it sag down even further … a plant seemingly weary with sagging shoulders or a little attitude perhaps? My Knock Out Roses, which line the chain-link fence, are all brown and a little brittle looking. I hope this brutal Winter does not knock them down and they are out for the count. All I can see is the tip-tops of my Twist-and-Shout hydrangea bushes, otherwise they are buried under all the snow. The coneflowers and daisies are mere stalks right now, poking up amidst the snow drifts. The decorative log cabin birdhouse that my neighbor Jim built for me nearly twenty years ago is covered in a large black contractor bag to protect it from the elements. The bag was blowing in the blustery wind, its red tie straps flapping every which way. Yes, the days are getting longer, but it will be many months before the garden is restored to its former glory.

I thought of my friend John Elliott today … he only pops on his e-mail occasionally, but I sent him this picture and suggested he get cracking on his 2014 gardens, no matter how hard it is to trek out to the greenhouse these days. You see John lives in Upstate New York, and has a greenhouse on his large piece of property. By now, he has poured over dozens of new seed and plant catalogs, and probably dog-eared more than a few pages, but truth be told, the catalogs only serve to get him through the long Winter days and dream about his beautiful gardens. Actually, John will only use the seeds gleaned from his own plants, especially his several gardens of prized Foxglove. He gathered the seeds when he put the gardens to bed, carefully sorting them by color and storing them until early February when he will start sowing those seeds into many tiny containers in his greenhouse. From there he lovingly tends to his seedlings every day, getting those plants off to a great start under his watchful eye until it is officially planting time. Gardening is John’s passion in the Spring through Fall. In the Winter months, he is an expert woodworker, crafting cradles for his many great-grandchildren and fashioning intricate wood scrollwork. He is also an accomplished painter. I’ve seen pictures of all his creations – they are exquisite and his massive gardens are simply beautiful. Did I mention John is 88?

I’ve never had much luck starting seeds – perhaps I’ve not had the patience, or the time, or I am not the nurturing person that John is. I like the perennial Forget-me-nots , so a few years ago I scattered about five packets of seeds here and there in my garden beds to add a few splashes of color to the yard in the early Spring. To my surprise, most of the seeds took and the flowers flourished. They complemented the lilacs, also early bloomers, but then after a few years, the plants grew scraggly, and despite cutting them back, they looked raggedy looking so I yanked them out. Around the same time of sowing the Forget-me-nots, I bought five packets of Russian Mammoth Sunflower seeds, eager to try my hand at growing tall sunflowers for the garden and the goldfinches that frequent the yard. Out of five packets of seeds, I got one sunflower that grew very tall, but because its heavy head was laden with seeds, it toppled over and the squirrels had a field day and a feast with its bounty of striped seeds, while the goldfinches lined up along the fence in dismay and disgust at the squirrels’ boorish behavior.

Well, it will be many more months until it is “a time to plant, a time to reap” … we will just muddle along and make the best of life in the meantime.