Yes, there was snow in the forecast for Wednesday night, but not this much. By Friday afternoon, most of it is gone, but more is on the way in the next few days. It's a wet clinging snow that octuples (at least) the diameter of the clothesline and brings down tree branches. It's good that all the new growth around here is still fairly short. The newly hatched crocuses were buried deeply yesterday morning, and today they were standing upright, all three inches of them, as if nothing had happened. They brought to mind a dismal recollection, though. Our daffodils have, on more than one occasion, been struck down, not to recover, by this kind of snow. Furthermore, the daffodil tips are still underground. The sad implication here is that, starting no earlier than now, adding the time it takes for a daffodil to break the surface, grow a stem, and open a flower, brings us to a point in the future of this spring when there is still a chance of snow. Nevertheless, I am generally at odds with the snow haters and winter detractors around here, so I must try to appreciate the existing circumstances which I do not control. The snow brightened up the landscape for the day, soaked into the ground where tree roots can always use a little more, and may have compressed all the grass and leaves I just added to the compost. And no harm done.
Hours before the snow fell, Barry was at work on a covered garden bed. He cut lengths of plastic conduit (collected from our own rewiring project and from construction sites, quite legally) to serve as a frame - a cheery combination of orange, yellow, and white, to counteract my whining about the drabness of my little piece of the planet. The frame can be covered with plastic, or row cover fabric, or shade cloth. I vote for clear plastic, at least for the early stages. Last year we had a section of the same bed shrouded in white row cover fabric and I routinely forgot there was anything living underneath. The Swiss chard and lettuce did fine. They got watered through the cloth once in a while and the cover cut down on the transpiration rate. The volunteers (weeds) that went unnoticed for weeks at a time did even better.
Hours before the snow fell, Barry was at work on a covered garden bed. He cut lengths of plastic conduit (collected from our own rewiring project and from construction sites, quite legally) to serve as a frame - a cheery combination of orange, yellow, and white, to counteract my whining about the drabness of my little piece of the planet. The frame can be covered with plastic, or row cover fabric, or shade cloth. I vote for clear plastic, at least for the early stages. Last year we had a section of the same bed shrouded in white row cover fabric and I routinely forgot there was anything living underneath. The Swiss chard and lettuce did fine. They got watered through the cloth once in a while and the cover cut down on the transpiration rate. The volunteers (weeds) that went unnoticed for weeks at a time did even better.
Those multi-coloured half hoops arching over the white snow made me smile when I dropped off the compost this morning. It was also a good reminder to check your blog! Great "winter" photos!
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