Getting the coffee going this gray, ugly morning, my husband and I were discussing full-spectrum lights. It seems one of our friends uses them to avoid S.A.D.
I told him I tend to just go into the greenhouse at midday, when I get a little tired of working. “I think it helps, just sitting in there for five minutes,” I said.
“Yeah, I went in there too recently. It smelled just wonderful.” (This from the guy who expresses zero interest in my gardening, except at suppertime.)
I told him I hated to be so stingy with all the greenhouse’s contents. The salads we have had from there are positively heavenly, so tender and deeply colored. (FWIW, it is not fully planted: construction ran too late for some seedlings, and then an escaped chicken made a mess of my mache bed. It will be full when the sun swings back into our hemisphere, say, in February.)
“Maybe we should build another one, then,” he said.
And here I was, wondering how the heck I was going tell him I think we should build a second one next year!