We usually don't get a lot of snow until Nov. by then the trees are bare and everything is brown.
It is nearing the middle of October and the ground is covered in a blanket of fresh fallen snow. Trees with their leaves still attached, light greens fading into various shades of red, yellow and orange, hover above the cold earth and shed their leaves onto the snow. My garden is quiet. Hardy herbs like mints, catnip and lady’s bed straw poke out of the snow, appearing as green as early spring under their shroud. Towering sunflowers wither and bend from the weight of the snow. Though all of the bounty has been harvested one last morsel remains to be collected. I have not yet collected all of the seeds. All of my annuals are heirlooms — a living piece of history passed down through the generations. (No Monsanto monstrosities for me.) Lush leafy greens, herbs, flowers all need to be replenished next year. I allowed a small plot of radishes to flower in the middle of my herb bed, surprisingly ornamental flowers that attracted butterflies and honeybees, turned into seed pods that promised to keep my household supplied with fresh sprouts for salads and sandwiches all winter long – a tiny taste of spring while the frigid winds blow outside. I have yet to plant next year’s woad for its blue dye pigment.
My heirloom "mammoth sunflower" may still be mammoth, but is sunny no longer.
So, I have come too late for the final harvest (or winter has come too early). Usually it doesn’t get this cold until November; but nothing about this year’s weather has been ordinary. To add insult to injury, as I went about the late afternoon feedings, wind blowing a mixture of snow and leaves into my face, all of the rabbit water bottles were icy and frozen — usually the first sign of winter’s arival on my small homestead in the middle of the north woods.
