January 31, 2009
Dear Winter,
It’s the end of January. Words like “hibernate” and “dormant” typically go with this time of the year, but man, Winter, you’re such a tease this year! Please explain how it is that I ate my first asparagus out of my field last week, counted dozens of new strawberry blossoms, and just harvested artichokes for dinner tonight?
You’re acting so weird. If you’re trying to cross-dress as Spring, well, I understand: She’s a hottie. Who wouldn’t want to be Spring, all decked out in pink blossoms and rainbows, perfumed by intoxicating breezes and adorned with cute little white lambs? Everyone gets excited about Spring showing up. But you know, it’s only because you make her look so good. And really, the best thing you can be is you. You’re Winter, and we need you just as much as we need the other three. OK? OK.
You know, I’ve been noticing something about you, Winter — something about your sense of humor. You really seem to relish irony. Like that night a couple of weeks ago when you whipped up some 80 mile-per-hour winds and yanked the weed barrier off of my new strawberry planting. You did an artful job of tying 4,000 square feet of it into an incredible knot and then draping it over the broccoli.
I crawled through the mud the next day, grunting all 200 pounds of that weed barrier into an awkward roll, for fear that you would do it again. Ah, but no. Since then, it has been absolutely windless and sunny. You are funny.
And about the sun: Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice and all, but don’t you think you might be going a little bit overboard? I mean, it’s been two weeks of T-shirt weather and I’m starting to worry that you’re going to convince the fruit trees to break dormancy and bud out, only to thrash them in some ferocious storm next month. I know, I know, it would be hilarious if that happened, but if you need a laugh maybe you should rent some Eddie Murphy movies or check out Will Ferrell impersonating George Bush on YouTube.
Also, just between you and me, it’s hard to sit in front of the computer when it’s so nice out, but I’m supposed to be writing a bunch of stuff for Diary of a Young Farmer and other things — so it’d be a big help if you could bring in some dark clouds and a little rain.
Oh yeah, and then there’s that weird way that you somehow make days shorter but to-do lists longer. I can’t figure this one out. Yeah, yeah — I have a headlamp, but it gets a little dicey pounding nails and steering draft horses with a wimpy LED light. It has me thinking how teen pregnancy might have been a great idea for me back when. Especially if I’d had twins! Imagine all the stuff that would get done if there were a couple of fourteen-year-olds kicking around right now to muck stalls, turn compost, thin strawberry runners, divide artichokes and plant apple trees with me. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that in high school.
I should say, to your credit, that the Brussels sprouts and kale are really tasty right now, thanks to all those frosty nights in December. Way to go, Winter! The carrots that I left in the ground have been awesome, too. Every now and then when I go to the grocery store I get wide-eyed and stunned by all the choices. Did you know that people eat things besides leeks, squash, cabbage, roots, kale and frozen chickens in January?
OK, confession time: I did buy two avocados last time I was there. I hope you won’t think I’m a traitor, but what can I say: I was completely mesmerized. Everything at my fingertips. I could have bought peaches even (don’t worry — I knew better). I took my two avocados home and ate them on top of a pile of steamed winterbor kale. Yu-um!
It got me thinking that if you plan to keep up this sunny-weather act, I might just have to plant a couple of avocado trees in the greenhouse. Of course if I did that, I’m sure you’d come up with a real knee-slapper — like maybe a big ice storm to crush the whole greenhouse.
You’re a real riot, Winter. Well, gotta get back to thawing out that chicken and ordering my seeds. I hope you’ll believe me when I say I really do like spending time with you…well, mostly. When you’re not being a total butthead.
On that note, here’s to our next couple of months together.
Stay cool.
Zoë
Zoë Bradbury is a Kellogg Food & Society Policy Fellow. She lives, writes, and farms on Oregon’s southern coast.
October 20th, 2009 at 4:12 pm
Can’t believe I missed this one. Best entry ever! xo