Adieu to April

I love living here. I think you can tell that if you've read this Journal for any amount of time. But I do have my moments, they are small, and not very frequent, when I think maybe I don't. Last week I found myself grumbling "Why couldn't my ancestors have settled in some place a little milder? Maybe Zone 7 on the USDA's Plant Hardiness Zone Map." That was on Monday when I woke to find snow on the ground again. It happened once more on Tuesday morning when I was looking out at a garden turned to ice in April. So yes, sometimes I do feel that way, but then I have moments like this next one where I know I'm where I belong. 

Monday morning.

The moment came late on Tuesday morning. The sun had come out and thawed the frozen world. I was tidying the house, sweeping floors. Sweeping floors isn't a particularly nostalgic activity. I've swept many floors in many houses and other places over the years and didn't think much of it. But that morning it was different. I might call it a haunting, but in the more complex meanings of the word – to be visited by ghosts, or for something to have qualities that linger in memory, or to be beautiful in a sad way. It was a mixture of those things. It occurred to me that I've swept these floors, in this house, more than any others in my life. Twenty-six years of sweeping. I was sweeping in the living room – ancient maple boards, warmed by the sunlight shining on them – when the history of the floor welled up around me. I imagined the feet that have traveled across it over the hundred and fifty years that my family has dwelt here. My great-grandparents, my grandparents, my aunts Sarah, Esther, and Eleanor who lived here for so long, my parents, siblings, their families, my children and my grandchildren, countless others of our kin and friends, generations of feet walking these floors, climbing those stairs, inhabiting the space between these walls. The bare feet, the stockinged feet, the shoes. I had to stop and ponder on it. I could almost sense the ghosts of feet upon the floor. I believe a house can hold memories. The things that happen in them become imbedded in them, the good and the bad, a sort of domestic karma. This house has good karma. I can feel it. I especially felt it that morning. It was a happy haunting that lasted a few minutes while the sunlight glowed on the floors where so many feet have trodden.

I knew what was coming from the weather reports, so last Sunday evening I covered what I could and I didn't take the covers off until late on Tuesday morning when things finally started to warm up again. 

Sunday evening: lilies covered with pots.

Sunday evening: the big bed of lilies covered.

Sunday evening: the driveway garden covered.

I only went outside twice on Monday, just to do the morning and afternoon chores. The high temperature for the day only reached 35°. As an act of defiance against the cold, I planted sweet peas, twelve pots of them. The thought of their fragrant flowers in June made me happy. 

On Tuesday morning it was 14° at dawn. I groaned as I went down to do the morning chores. Several weeks ago, I'd foolishly unplugged and put away the heaters for the chicken waterers thinking I didn't need them anymore. That morning the waterers were frozen. The rain barrel had ice an inch thick on it. The chickens were grousing about the cold. I was too. It was a sunny morning and by 10:00 it had warmed to 45°. That's when I went out and uncovered the lilies and inspected the garden. As I removed the covers, I dreaded what I might find under them. When the temperature drops into the teens, things can freeze even when they are covered. The cold had taken a heavy toll. Sadly, even some of the covered plants were frostbitten. I couldn't tell immediately how bad it was, I had to watch as things thawed out to see which plants shriveled and which revived. Many of the lilies did not survive. The apples and pears, as far as I can tell, were not damaged, but that will be clearer when they actually start to bloom. The lilacs took a hard hit, but some of the buds look good, so we might get a few flowers. Even some of the hardiest flowers like lupin and bleeding hearts were damaged.

Frost damaged lupins.

Damaged lilacs.

I spent the rest of the day planting things from the big order that arrived last Saturday. I planted two cherry trees, a peach tree, an apple tree, two elderberry bushes, and a dozen raspberries. I was glad to get them in the ground. After that, I worked on making doors for my raised bed high tunnels. I used part of the old high tunnel we had two years ago that got destroyed by a winter storm. I cut the door ends off of it and attached them to my new mini high tunnels. I think they'll work great. By the time I finished that, my workday was done. I accomplished a lot and it felt good.

More planting on Wednesday, this time it was asparagus. I ordered a dozen plants to fill in gaps in my old asparagus bed. I had to do some weeding in the bed before I could plant new roots. The asparagus is starting to come up now. I love asparagus season. I can't think of any other vegetable as delicious as tender steamed asparagus with butter and a dash of salt. After planting, I mowed the lawn. The grass was tall enough to actually need mowing. The smell of the cut grass in the warm afternoon air was a delight, a pure summer fragrance. That evening, Stacey and I went to see the movie The Great Awakening about the relationship between Benjamin Franklin and the evangelical preacher George Whitefield and the part they played in establishing our nation. It was a a great movie.

The planted asparagus bed and the high tunnels with their new doors.

Last week I needed a dose of strong music every morning to cope with the cold and to ease me through my gardening anxiety, disappointment, and even a bit of anger. I chose Chopin. He was one of my earliest Classical Music loves. His music, sometimes tempestuous, sometimes tender, always thrilling, has brought me much comfort over the years. My teenage journals are full of praise and admiration for him. So every morning, while I waited for the day to unfold, I filled the house with Chopin. I started on snowy Monday with the four ballades, sixteen polonaises, and eight waltzes. On frosty Tuesday it was the twenty-seven etudes. Wednesday was the twenty-four preludes. Thursday it was the works for piano and orchestra – the two piano concertos, the Fantasy for Piano and Orchestra, and the Grand Polonaise. And for Friday I'd saved my favorite of his works, the twenty-one nocturnes. It was a week of glorious music and Chopin served me well, as he always does.

Chopin. He always looks a little upset in this photograph.

Frédéric Chopin was born in Poland on March 1, 1810. His birthname was Fryderyk Francizek Chopin. He was a child prodigy. He began giving concerts and composing music at the age of seven. He left Poland at the age of 20, never to return. He moved to Paris where he became a musical celebrity, renowned for his compositions and his remarkable skill at the keyboard. He led a romantic and tumultuous life, became a friend of Franz Liszt's, had an affair with the French writer Aurore Dupin (who published under the name George Sand), and died in 1849 at the age of 39. His body is buried in the Pére Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, but his heart was returned to Poland where it is enshrined in a monument in Warsaw.

Chopin's grave in Paris, and his monument in Warsaw.

Thursday was a perfect spring day. It was sunny. It was warm. It was so warm that midday I changed into shorts. I spent most of the morning in the orchard. I inspected every tree. I weeded around the base of each trunk. I found that every tree that is old enough to flower has buds. Now if the weather will just behave, it looks like apple blossom time is about two weeks away. After that, I went on a dandelion purge. The dandelions are starting to bloom now, so it's easy to spot the ones growing in unwanted places. I don't mind dandelions in the lawn and in the untended parts of the yard, but I don't allow them in the flowerbeds. I spent several hours digging them out of the long border and other beds. After that I weeded the little herb garden Miriam keeps by the back porch steps. The perennial herbs are starting to come up, mint, lemon balm, chives, sage, and fennel. But I needed to make room for the annual herbs she will plant in a few weeks. There were a lot of weeds, but I got it all cleaned out.

The greening  orchard.

After dinner on Thursday, we worked on beehives. Sarah and Tosh want to keep bees at their place next door and Miriam said she would be in charge of them. I kept bees for years, but had to stop when I began having bad reactions to their stings. But I held on to two of my old hive boxes. They've been in storage down in the barn for five years. We brought them up to the back porch stairs and that evening we cleaned them. They are top bar hives and there was a lot of old wax and propolis in them. We used boiling water and scrapers to remove as much as we could. The smell of the waxy wood was wonderful (how's that for a bit of alliteration?). Miriam has ordered two boxes of bees that will arrive in two weeks. I like having bees around – as long as I don't have to tend them. They'll get here just in time for apple blossom time.

Cleaning up old bee hives.

On Friday we had work done on our electrical line. We were informed several weeks ago that the very old wires going into the house were a danger and had to be replaced along with the very old and outdated fuse box on the back porch. The electricians came Friday morning and went to work. They shut the power off while they were working, but I was at a doctor's appointment most of the time, so I didn't mind the inconvenience. By the time I got home, they were done and the power was back on. So now we are up to code with a fancy new meter and fuse box.

New meter box outside.

New fuse box on the back porch.

Miriam and Hannah left Friday afternoon to go down to the Thayn's for the weekend. They'll be back later this afternoon. Stacey and I had a quiet weekend together. Friday night we went on a double date with Kurt and Julie to see the biopic about Michael Jackson, Michael. It was very entertaining. He was a great performer. 

Saturday was rainy. We puttered around most of the morning, not doing much of anything. We made a trip to the dump to get rid of construction debris. It was a dreary day, not suited to any sort of activity outdoors. I spent the afternoon planting seed trays – marigolds, cosmos, mignonette, China asters, cornflowers, and zinnias. I've run out of seed trays, seed starter soil, and room on my sprouting shelves to hold them. That's most of the summer garden started – if they sprout. My seed potatoes arrived in the mail in the afternoon and I set them to chit. After they've sprouted a bit, I will plant them. This year I'm growing them in pots. They are not part of the main potato crop that we plant out in the big garden.

Seed trays on the back porch shelves.

Seed trays in the woodshed.

Seed potatoes set to chit by the window.

The rest of the day was slow and a bit boring. I ran out of things to keep me occupied and ended up sitting and watching Gardner's World and dozing for a while. The highpoint of the day was dinner at the Shillig's with our friends Bob and Nancy Jones. The food was excellent and the company superb.

Dinner with the Joneses and the Shilligs.

Today is another chilly, dreary day, but it is the Sabbath and that makes a difference. We had good meetings at church. The sun is trying to break through, just in time for me to go do the afternoon chores. Miriam and Hannah will be home later. This evening we are going to Shillig's to celebrate Kale's birthday.

The forecast says the temperature will drop to 35° tonight and we might get patchy frost, which means Gold will be even colder and we definitely will. So I'll go out later this afternoon and cover what I can once again. We've arrived at the last days of April and I'm eager to bid it adieu. I'm ready for May – the longer days, the warmer weather (I hope), and apple blossom time. The finest days of the year are about to begin and I am ready to welcome them.