We are buried, once again, in several inches of snow today (Ontario and the Maritimes also, I hear) and I’ve got the blues.
It’s Canada, and it’s winter. There will be snow and cold. I get that. But during the last few weeks, we have had a good share of pleasant weather in Southwestern Alberta, what we like to call a ‘wintermission’. The kids were walking around without coats, let alone gloves, and the pussy willow catkins have come out. That last is a little disturbing, I know, but you take the lack of mittens and the abundance of fuzzy-tipped twigs, and add seed catalogue season to the mix, and you have a recipe for spring fever.
I mean, I’m enjoying winter. Kind of. I’ve gotten some cross country skiing in. And I am not weeding. Oh, the bliss. It feels good just to say it, doesn’t it? NOT. Weeding.
But now that Christmas is over, I’m kind of bored with the whole “Let It Snow-Winter Wonderland” thing. So a few days here and there of above-zero temperatures is enough to get me a little excited. (About the planting and stuff, of course. Not the weeding.) It’s probably not helping that I’m catching up on an issue or two of Canadian Gardening that I didn’t get to because I was weeding, and now that I am blissfully not weeding, I’m finding all kinds of new candidates for residency in the Demes yard. I actually have a list to ask my favourite greenhouse to order in for me.
I never knew I was a shopaholic until I started gardening.
And the seed catalogues aren’t helping. Here I would like to use a metaphor about candy stores or drug dealers. I can’t decide which. They will have my money before too much longer as well. Which is fine really, if they would quit giving me the itch to get my hands in the dirt. Actually, I have one other seed catalogue complaint: How many varieties of carrot is one expected to grow, exactly? Stokes, for example, has 53 different carrot varieties and/or seed types to choose from. Every veggie has a similar list, even kohlrabi has three. Kohlrabi. I’m all for variety, but there’s a little part of me, when I do choose something, that wonders if I chose right. The paradox of choice strikes again.
Too much choice in the shopping, too little choice in the actual doing. That’s what it really comes down to, I suppose, though I must thank Stephen for reminding me to get out my sprout trays. At least I can grow a little something fresh to eat.
But really, the closest I’m getting to my garden proper for the next month or two is giving it a wave as I go for a little ski in the pasture. The sooner I quit pining and face that fact, the sooner I can focus on enjoying the rest of the winter.
Or at least, focus on completing my seed and plant orders and clearing the kitchen counter for seedlings.
I’m going for a ski.
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