132 days till spring
A dose of winter brings thoughts of spring, yet we still have five more weeks of autumn. From the date of this publication, there will be 132 days until March 20, 2023, the first day of spring. During this time, our planet will have traveled just over one-third of its annual ellipse around the sun.
Halfway to spring would be January 28, birthday of Thomas Aquinas and Sarah McLachlan, and most of winter still lays ahead. Halfway to their birthdays will be December 22, birthday, of course, of Srinavasa Ramanujan, known for his Ramanujan theta function and other contributions to number theory which are helpful when gardeners count their potatoes.
But now, small-time gardeners like most of us with less to do, can indulge in a nap or a hike on a weekend afternoon. Market gardeners, bless their hearts, are still fussing over rutabagas and winter radishes, anchoring row covers, and keeping water lines from freezing. There’s a lot to do when you’re running a ranch. Regarding plant and soil maintenance duties, they are busier than I am, but there are still a plentitude of important tasks I can remind myself I did not do yet. For example . . .
My garden fence encloses approximately 30 beds which need wintertime attention. The perfect attention would be to gently tickle the top few inches of soil with a cultivator followed by a series of mulches of straw, leaves, compost and horse manure. Will I give adequate attention to 30 beds? Time will tell, but a focused gardener should get started. Can I get 30 beds mulched before Thomas Aquinas’ birthday? That would mean purposefully mulching with a variety of materials one bed every other day. That is a commitment.
Another commitment would be to tend to the pathways. The word “path” has not changed much through centuries of Old English and Old German all the way back to the Sanskrit word “patha.” That means paths matter. They should also get attention during the winter.
In my hillside garden area, the natural vegetation (jungle), unless maintained, begins to reclaim the pathways by mid-spring. Years ago, I started covering pathways with layers of cardboard or chipboard and a thick layer of wood chips on top. This look neat and tidy, but within a year, weeds start to sprout in spite of my efforts. Within two years, weeds might own the space again, so it’s like painting the Golden Gate Bridge– even before you finish, you need to start over.
So autumn and winter are available for covering pathways if you are so inclined. Maybe your magic garden does not need such attention. Good for you, but there’s still plenty more to do.
I plant garlic bulbs in early autumn. The leaves they sprout right away will die back during the coldest winter weather, but re-sprout in April, the cruelest month. I apply a serious dose of mulch around them, and they seem to like that. If you plant bulbs for spring flowers (daffodils, tulips, hyacinths and such), it’s getting late because it’s best before the ground freezes.
It’s rare around here for the ground to freeze too deeply, but we just had snow a week after afternoons in the seventies, so I resign from the official Sorcerer’s Weather Predicting Forum and will trust bird migrations and cloud patterns instead. For example, early last week, a mixed flock of bluebirds and yellow-rumped warblers with at least one white-throated sparrow flittered in the trees in my front yard one afternoon, and soon enough the cold weather came to town. Coincidence? Maybe, but let’s not get all Alex Jones about it.
So plant your bulbs like it says on the package in soil so well-prepared Thomas Aquinas would tweet about it and Sarah McLachlan would sing about it.
And beyond tasks, this off-season is also a time to remember how enjoyable it is just puttering around in your garden getting your hands dirty and listening to the birds.