Cold snap
Today winter started. A week of unseasonal warmth gave way to all-day rain, then icy drizzle. The joys of the Midwest.
Each morning I walk to the end of the drive to collect a paper I will not read. I always stop to admire the whisky-barrel planter full of snapdragons. I put them in two years ago, when much was different. I was working, could travel, and generally got by OK. I have always loved the massed opulence of snapdragons—tall spikes of watered silk.
Last year, the self-seeded snapdragons got a slow start, and finally managed a few late blossoms. They were basically an act of faith, a work in progress. To see them, you had to know that they were there.
This year they made a more promising start, a more definite statement. In early spring, I spent a few minutes one afternoon at the planter, in the cold but welcome sun, weeding out all the plants that did not seem to be incipient snapdragons. “Go for it, guys,” I told the survivors. That was all I did, and I was rewarded with a barrel of glorious flowers all season.
When less hardy summer flowers shrank and disappeared from neighbors’ gardens, gone before October, my snapdragons continued unfazed. They staggered a bit as the cold started to bite, but offered a few blooms right through November.
Chicago winter may delay, but she don’t play. We had a nice warm week, but nice is done. This morning there was one magenta bud, ‘fronting the ice storm. As I bent near it to pick up the paper I said “Good job,” and “Thanks,” and “See you in the spring.” Which, come to think of it, was the same thing I said to the Cubs as they left the field at Wrigley, heading into their last week. Your basic baseball benediction, good year or bad, season in, season out.
Each morning I walk to the end of the drive to collect a paper I will not read. I always stop to admire the whisky-barrel planter full of snapdragons. I put them in two years ago, when much was different. I was working, could travel, and generally got by OK. I have always loved the massed opulence of snapdragons—tall spikes of watered silk.
Last year, the self-seeded snapdragons got a slow start, and finally managed a few late blossoms. They were basically an act of faith, a work in progress. To see them, you had to know that they were there.
This year they made a more promising start, a more definite statement. In early spring, I spent a few minutes one afternoon at the planter, in the cold but welcome sun, weeding out all the plants that did not seem to be incipient snapdragons. “Go for it, guys,” I told the survivors. That was all I did, and I was rewarded with a barrel of glorious flowers all season.
When less hardy summer flowers shrank and disappeared from neighbors’ gardens, gone before October, my snapdragons continued unfazed. They staggered a bit as the cold started to bite, but offered a few blooms right through November.
Chicago winter may delay, but she don’t play. We had a nice warm week, but nice is done. This morning there was one magenta bud, ‘fronting the ice storm. As I bent near it to pick up the paper I said “Good job,” and “Thanks,” and “See you in the spring.” Which, come to think of it, was the same thing I said to the Cubs as they left the field at Wrigley, heading into their last week. Your basic baseball benediction, good year or bad, season in, season out.
posted by SteelR at 9:44 PM
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