The Twilight Snowne

Thursday morning was covered in a thick blanket of frozen, white wet. Friday morning smells like that cold sweat armpit smell, warm then cold and now damp.
Though Wednesday's flower bed clearing was far from finished, I decided to busy myself indoors and start restoring the wood coffee table and end table which I industriously picked out of the junk pile of one kind soul. The smelly, dry but dark evil laboratory workshop of a garage was much more inviting to me than the snow.
Sure, I could bundle up and murder ivy in the snow, burn that huge pile of debris, there are plenty of things I could have done perfectly comfortably, to prepare the flower beds and clean up the yard in the snow. Among other kinds of hermit, lately, I am a snow hermit. I want to make snow illegal in Pacific County, but the damn politicians are against me. They probably LIKE snow. I want to live on the coast for it's mild weather, darn it!
For some, snow is pretty. Snow somehow conjures up nostalgic feelings in some. Inhabitants of this wet, dark corner of the galaxy tend to see it as a depressing setback in our journey to the days of warmth and sunlight. I'm sure not all of them see snow this way.
Maggie sure likes putting it in her mouth. Terrorist.


Mean while, indoors where the snow don't go, my tomato plants have exploded from little seedling trees, into flower studded angry hulk sized plants! I have been reading some interesting literature about pollinating these buggars with vibrating devices. Apparently they can't get there by themselves.
The squash are developing their fifth set of true leaves and the broccoli are moving along swimmingly.
Something wonderful happened with one of the squash seedlings!
Back when I was impatiently (not) waiting for germination, I dug up a seed and broke it in half to see if the darn thing was rotten, it wasn't, but instead of throwing the seed away and replanting the pot, I shoved the seed halves back into the soil- like the slob that I am, deep down. Well, this seed sprouted, and though it only had one very malformed seed leaf, it didn't die. This little thingy is putting on tiny true leaves to compensate, and because the plant doesn't have the seed leaves to supplement it's nutrition, I've been lightly fertilizing it. The entire thing is not much bigger than my thumb, while it's seedling mates are larger than my entire hand, I am just astounded that the thing is growing.
I'm contemplating starting fresh seeds, because I am not sure these plants will transfer into the garden.
If this snow bs continues like snowy years in the past, the true warm weather will come on late and a few early warm patches of false Spring will lure my plants out doors, then freeze them- ZAP!
However, if the peninsula can keep it's self out of the freezer, my early planting will not have been in vain, the plants will take to the garden and I will have extended our short growing season by a good couple of months!

I really want my lights back, too. While the Veggies are hogging it, I have plans for sprouting entire envelopes of snapdragons, zinnias and sweet peas to plant around the house. This lady has an undying lust for flowers, but a stubborn checking account, not pleased with the price tag of posies at the nursery, if you know what I mean!

I am not far from the child I was when I sang to the cows and picked the wild flowers around the Ranch. I am fascinated and delighted by bright green sprouting, blooming, climbing things.
The kind smiles of bright blooms, and lofty glances of leafy twigs inspire topics of conversation and boost my aliveness more than most of my daily human interactions. There's an imaginary world not so far from earth, under the rhododendrons. Ivy and black berry vines team up with holly trees and wild sorrel to over take this garden of primrose and crocus, and over there, a circle outlined by huge, wise, ancient redwood!
What would it say if trees spoke? What are the inner workings of a bok choy, as it's stem and first leaves break into the light?
Do peonies gossip? Are Lilacs like children until they reach thirty?

There was a huge Lilac tree (Tree, not bush) at the ranch where I grew up. It was situated quite close to the bedroom window, and I remember climbing out of that window to get tangled up in it's branches and have long talks with Fred. I don't remember a lot of details from my childhood, but I remember naming that tree, and feeling it's oldness. I remember a sweet boy from my all boy (except me) kindergarten class helping me bring an old tractor tire to the base of the tree so we could sit under it together. I don't remember what we use to talk about, but Jamie and I spent a lot of time under Fred that summer, I remember that!
I don't remember snow at the ranch being so horribly kill-joy.
Perhaps that was because it was fun to play "lost orphan in a snow storm" when it was snowing, thoug that entire plot line happens to be depressing as hell. There was also a fair amount of eighty degree plus weather in eastern Oregon, the weather of warmth and sunshine adequately put a thaw on orphan ali, turning her into butter cup tracker and wind whisperer.

I was a weird mix of imaginative, intelligent, mature, sensitive, curious, creative and impatient as a child.
Time passes, and I am an impatient,  curious, creative child, trying to navigate the life of an intelligent, sensitive, mature, imaginative adult. Still wearing the ripped flower girl dress of pointless emotionality.
Fighting the need to leave my house of imagination and comfort, to go out in the world of the known and unimagined and put money into the bank so I can pay that damn bill.

I vacuumed the memory chip for the camera and Fred (not the lilac) has requested that I have his supervision when handling his nice things since I break and/or accidentally throw away so many of them...
But soon I will have pictures of the garden and seedlings, and Maggie's horrible healing burn! WEEEE.