One gardener's observations, discoveries and random thoughts whilst simultaneously worshipping and dallying in a Cape Cod garden. "A garden," said Ralph Waldo Emerson, "is like those pernicious machineries which catch a man's coatskirt or his hand, and draw in his arm, his leg and his whole body to irresistable destruction."

Last Moments


Well, the temperature certainly dropped overnight, as predicted. As the Weatherbug chirps to be sure I know of the Winter Storm Watch, we have a temperature of 31 degrees…and man, does it feel colder still.

Since Friday will see us moving the last of Us out of the Eastham house, this morning I went out on a bit of inspection walk-about in the yard, to collect some random overlooked garden things (another piggy statue, some candle lanterns, the stormbells and wind chimes and a few miscellaneous pots and tools) which could potentially be buried in today’s storm. I’ve packed them for delivery to Harwich between events at work today.

The snow is scheduled to start early afternoon, but it remains to be seen what form the storm will ultimately take for us here on the Cape. The forecast is for 5 – 10 inches now. There’s a possibility, as always in the Narrow Lands, that we will see some of this storm as rain or sleet, the latter only ever a tempting proposition if all those you love are enjoying a day off safe at home. All rain would be acceptable, but that would be neither festive nor especially likely.

If the temp remains the same, then odds are good we’ll see all snow…and that might be the best possible scenario, although it would serve us right for thinking we wouldn’t have to shovel this long-ass driveway again. But fiddle-dee-dee: that’s a premise I don’t think I can even entertain until it actually happens.

Meanwhile, it turns out that the End is essentially here, and tomorrow will be (even without snow to shovel or sweep) entirely too busy to be too sentimental about leaving this great place.

The gray squirrels cavort and canvas the yard. The ducks are not sailing on this morning’s frozen pond. You can still always hear a chickadee. I will miss all of them, and the turtles and cardinals and bunnies and chipmunks and Old Joe, too.

This morning, I saw that red squirrel again. We met early in our tenancy, when he gave me an angry chattering but then he’d gone unseen until this fall. I can’t help but wonder now if I might have accidentally evicted him from the garden shed when I began my gardening. Perhaps he’s ready to move back in and is as eager as we are to have the transition complete.

Of course, I will always carry a piece of this great natural space in my gardener’s heart, as we move into the future, exploring new territories.

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Comments on: "Last Moments" (1)

  1. Anonymous said:

    Greg,

    You should be a writer! I really enjoyed reading your postings and pictures. You are a natural poet!
    Hope you enjoyed your birthday yesterday!
    Lots of love,
    Grethel

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