Snow is supposed to form delicate traceries juxtaposed with grass and pushed up tunnels leading the eye around and through new thought itineraries. Ragged disintegrating thoughts take on new shapes, colors and melodies. An hour later the brief instruction is gone, its pattern watering the grass with new warmth. This is spring: delicate, warm, and communicative. [continued below]
This is also spring – with a long memory of winter. The snow on the roof of our garage slipped and slid down the slope of the metal roof, first forming a dramatic overhang, then collapsing to the ground – ground that contains perennial roots waiting to grow. This narrow bed facing north houses a large clump of solomonseal, the lovely Japanese grass Hakonechloa macra ‘Aureola’, a charming primrose, and a clematis companion to the ivy.
How much better if the snow had remained on the roof, evaporating when called upon, rather than forced to exit off its metal landing with a harsh thud. A green roof would have been beautiful, but even a shingled roof would have prevented our snow pack. If anyone wants to build an igloo, I have just the ingredient – I will likely be evaporating it with a shovel.
Since this week suddenly warmed up to the high forties, I ordered a few plants for the expansion of the fruit garden: 4 Triple Crown thornless blackberries and 2 Swenson Red grapes. They quickly arrived in two days from Edible Landscaping. Since I have never grown grapes (deliberately) before, I am eying the book, The Grape Grower: A Guide To Organic Viticulture by Lon Rombough. I’m planning to put them between two fat clothesline poles; I’ll have to dodge them when I hang sheets……..
Winter A mountain village: under the piled up snow the sound of water.