It has been warm here the last few days: highs in the upper 50s or lower 60s. I have spent the last two puttering in the garden.
I’m reading a gardening book now by an author whose climate was even milder than mine, and it of course set my thoughts toward the innate possibilities of starting a garden in March, or even February. Hmm. In any case, I am ever thankful I now live where I do, because I have added probably 7 weeks to the window of greenery we all call “gardening season.” I cannot help but compare my new zone 6B to the old 4B of Minneapolis! And it’s warm weather like this that rams it home.
It’s like the weather here in SW Michigan is something of a double-acting door. Yes, we had snow, some three incidences of it, in October, but November has been glorious, swinging back to the balms of early autumn. The bees are still worrying the overblown broccoli in the garden, the snapdragons are still spitting out blooms, the ground is still soft underfoot, the grass still green…none of these things would still be happening in my city lot. No. The door between winter and fall slams shut there, deadbolt thrown behind it, about October 1st.
Not that that’s a bad thing. I just like this better.
I wound up a sweaty day in the garden by sitting on its bench, glass of wine at my side, shelling beans in the sun in a t-shirt.