Well, darn right. There is snow on the ground and it isn't going anywhere soon with temperatures in the teens and twenties for the foreseeable future. I do like it. I'm not sure if I'd like it where my niece lives in Minneapolis. We've got about three to four inches covering the rolling hills in a most picturesque way. I'm not sure how many inches she has to dig through to get to her car, but I'm sure it's more.
John and I are pleased that the house is passing the test of its first winter. We stay warm and snug in here, even when the wind is howling and the temperatures are at zero or below. (And we still have some caulking to do!) Sunny days help. The big, south-facing windows catch all the warmth and light available. Everywhere you go in this house, you look out a window. When the snow falls straight down at a steady speed, it looks like we have moving curtains--some kind of groovy thing you might buy at Ikea.
All that said, I looked at seed catalogs yesterday and became giddy at the prospect of my garden. I bundled up and went outside to pace off my potager plots in the snow. I think I have it figured out. Gardens are funny things. The distance between your dreams and reality is huge. The garden in my mind is gigantic and lush and varied with surprises around every corner--well established in other words. I know from past experience that I need to start small and build it slowly over several years. If I try for gigantic the first year, I'll be overwhelmed and disappointed. That probably won't stop me from overreaching, though. Gardeners are a hopeful lot.
After pacing off the garden, I took a walk to the back pasture to fetch a winter bouquet for the table. There was a hush in the fields as dusk fell and a few snowflakes blew eastward. The air was moist and fresh. I was content to rest in winter waiting, but I felt the flame of spring flickering deep down--deep inside both me and the world. It is a warm and delightful feeling.