Digging out

Winter was a long time coming this year.   Oh, we had the bout of sub-zero temps with a few inches of snow on top, in early December, which was apparently the longest such cold stretch (down to -11 F at our house, lows down to -32 in other parts of the county) in 67 years.  The downtown Christmas Parade was cancelled due to the cold temperatures.   A lot of pipes in houses built since the last cold spell froze.   And considering the growth in Bend in just the last 15 years, that was a lot of pipes.  

Since then, we've been warm (high 50's) and dry until last week, when suddenly we got slammed.   

It was one of those storms that starts out with a fine sifting of harmless-looking tiny snowflakes, and then keeps snowing and snowing and snowing.   Not as much snow as the year our backyard nearly filled up, but a lot of snow all at once.   Businesses closed early, church services and other events were cancelled, including a ski race, simply because no one could get there.   

Many of us were trapped in our homes by walls of snow.   Living on the downhill side of the street, with a house below street level, the snowplows always hit us hard.   As they clear the street for the rest of the residents, our driveways are buried under feet of heavy, chunky snow.

 

The top of the wall o' snow was eye level from the house ground level.

As I started digging, I kept thinking:   what does this remind me of?    And then I realized it was The Wall erected to the north of Winterfell in Game of Gore, I mean, Game of Thrones, to keep the wildlings and ice ghouls out of the Seven Kingdoms.  At one point I thought about building a wee elevator and putting in some tiny figures at the base, to represent Jon Snow and the Night Watch.   But I opted to keep digging, hoping to create access to the mailbox for our faithful mail guy.

Previously, the manly guy and I had spent 40 minutes clearing the snow from the top of our other driveway, so we could get the car out.  Sorry for the darkness - it was about 6:00 am and the sun wasn't quite up when we went out.

Meanwhile, in the back yard .....

.... it was time to dig out the girls.    When I finished, they had about four feet square of open ground in their outside pen.

Some of the hens are veterans of at least one previous winter.   But there are five newbies who care not for this white stuff.   Previously I had scattered a bag of dried leaves over the shoveled ground, to lure them outside.   A few leaves were still visible.

Poor Penny, at the bottom of the pecking order and nervous in general, was clearly not sure what this strange white world was all about.

Is it safe out there?

Instant Gratification, Small Recompense

It's still doing this most mornings:

Just a skiff of snow, the overnight temperatures right around freezing, or a few degrees below. As soon as the sun comes up, the snow melts and the spring day proceeds as usual: sunshine ..... clouds and a breeze ..... more sun ..... corn snow..... sun with corn snow ...... rain ...... dark clouds and gusty wind ....... sun ........ snowflakes ........ and so on. This is March -- the cruelest month (except for April, also cruel, and even sometimes May, and quite often June too) in Bend's spring season.

I don't know why anyone is surprised. It's the same very year. I guess it's just that by now, we are all pretty sick of grey and brown and nothing green for months and months and months. Deciduous trees don't leaf out until late April. Spring break, usually the 3rd week in March, is particularly evil. Traditionally -- and trust me, I've kept track -- it has the worst weather in the whole month. Why? Because innocent children all over the county (and their not-so-innocent but ever-so-deserving teachers and parents) have the week off for 'vacation'. So the weather gods, with whom I am normally on quite friendly terms, give a gleeful little giggle and send rain, snow, wind, hail, and many other kinds of wet, cold dreck to pummel Bendites.

Many head for warmer regions -- Hawaii is popular this time of year. My sweetheart heads to Majorca to ride his bike amid blooming almond orchards along the Mediterranean coast. However, for those of us who once again have plans to Get The Garden Going During Spring Break Week, we stay home, with hope -- foolish foolish hope -- in our hearts. And either break out the waterproof jackets and mud boots or dress in multiple layers of wool, including hats and gloves, and spend our days going inside when the rain/snow starts, then back outside when it stops -- over and over throughout the days.

I did get my raspberries pruned. And that is probably the only time I will feel smug until sometime in the fall. After March, I am always behind. I realize every gardener is always behind, because there are just too many things to do in the spring than there is spring to do it in. But still I feel guilty and rushed.

It wears on a person. It really does. BUT!!!!

My personal salvation often comes from the annual seed catalog-a-thon which takes place anywhere from mid-February (good Ned) to early April (bad Ned).

When I started gardening in 1971, I somehow hooked right into the seed catalog gardening lifestyle. Local nurseries had only minimal options and besides, I loved mail order. It seemed so .... pro ..... so 'in the know' -- something that I, as a newbie gardener, was desperate to achieve. The first catalogs arrived right after Christmas, and I spent months happily circling things, making lists, pruning them, adding things back on, and finally, writing checks, stuffing my precious orders into the mail and waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Most of the places I ordered from were on the east coast, and it took a minimum of 2 weeks to get anything. Some companies were even slower.

In 30 -- no, 40 years (!!!) of gardening, all that has changed. Local nurseries have much better options for seeds of your average vegetables and flowers. But even now, if I want tomatoes that really will bear fruit in our short growing season, I rely on my faithful catalogs to get the seed. What has really changed is the whole catalog thing.

First one, then another, then a few more, seed companies began creating websites. At first, there were holdouts. Even some of the companies that had websites didn't offer online ordering. You could browse, you could admire, but you still had to fill out that printed order form and join the ranks of the waiters. But I am here to tell you, online ordering is the best thing to happen to mail order nuts addicts like me.

ONLINE ORDERING! Oh heavens. Forget 2 weeks. Most places now have an envelope full of seeds in the mail by the day after I order. Instant gratification -- especially good for people like me, who tend to procrastinate. Even if I don't order until the day after the Spring Equinox, I still have my tomato seeds in time to plant them in my greenhouse before the end of March. Sweet!

So while the weather does its thing, I sit at my desk during the worst stormy moments, and fondle my new seed packets. Better than gold doubloons in a pirate's chest.

Yet another festive spring day

So much for my plans today for pruning my apple trees


root-pruning my raspberries


uncovering my artichokes


or working on my rock border


Honestly, what's a person to do with a weather forecast like this?


a) notice there is no mention of snow
b) notice it's predicted to be 61 tomorrow. This will probably happen. It is a nutty climate we have here.
All I can say is, it's a good thing I watered last weekend.

An End to Pogonip?

I know, I know, it doesn't look all that exciting. Just a cloudy sky above some vaguely snowy trees. But trust me: this is an exciting sight for us today. We've been experiencing the dreaded winter weather phenomenon known formally as a 'stagnant air inversion layer', more colloquially as 'freezing fog' or, as I have just learned, 'pogonip' -- a Shoshone word meaning, well, freezing fog.

Since the fog rolled in Christmas morning, we have seen neither the sun nor the sky. The fog has been so thick, and so settled-in, that it has actually been falling out of the sky and accumulating on the ground like snow, as well as the usual hoarfrost attached to tree branches, etc.



I actually had to shovel it on Sunday. Who ever heard of shoveling fog?!

Quite lovely for about a day, then we Central Oregon sunshine freaks start whining and feeling depressed. Conveniently, the fog ends less than 1000 feet above town, so skiers heading up for nordic or alpine skiing at Meissner Snow Park or Mt Bachelor hit sunshine within 5 minutes of leaving town, and come home with sunburns.

er, Christmas in October?

The scene: the street outside our front yard. 4" of new snow, with more still dumping down. Trees bowed down with the increasing weight of wet, heavy, fast-falling snow, adhering to leaves still on the branches. 'Crack!' sounding in the still morning air, as branches broke and fell in both evergreen and deciduous trees around the neighborhood. People getting out their skis and tooling around the streets. Snowmen a-building. Power outages all over town as fallen branches snapped wires.



Anxious gardeners, trying to gently shake off the accumulating snow before it took out cherished trees and shrubs.




Sad gardeners, lamenting the flattened mums and asters lying on the path.



Regretful gardeners, wishing they had taken down the coolaroo shades before it snowed.




And wistful gardeners, saying sayonara to their pepper plants, so obviously done for the year!



Just last week I was irritated to note that Macy's already had Christmas displays up around the store. Isn't this a bit much?! I thought. Now I'm wondering if they just had insider information......

Technically snowing

Harbinger of Doom? (ie we're having an early/hard winter?) or just our typical goofy weather? The forecast is for another day of this lot, then temps in the 60's F, rising to 67 on Friday. Go figure.

Not so bad, really. I got the tomatoes harvested and now I can get an early start on pulling up blackened vines and starting the next batch of compost. Most years I stall and stall until it's time to plant new ones in June. But this year, boy, will I be on top of things.

Yesterday was cold and er, rainy (except for the technically-not-snow that fell throughout the day) and I spent most of it cowering, I mean, sitting cozily by the fire, doing gainful indoor tasks. Around 4:00 pm I awoke to the fact that things were going to continue going south (not only the geese, but the temperatures) and if I wanted any of my geraniums and other tender container plants to survive, I'd better hop to it ASAP.

I'd like to be able to say that every year I do this pleasant task in a relaxed, slow-paced and responsible gardenerly manner. That is, I stroll around the deck and bring in a few pots at a time over a period of a week or so, as the temperatures tastefully lower in a gradual, civilized manner. But no. I think that's only happened once in my many decades of gardening. Normally it's a haphazard and desperate afternoon, sometimes on a crisp but sunny day, sometimes freezing-ass windy and raining, with me bundled up in wool hat and vest, the plants shivering and nervous in case I get impatient and start practicing triage sooner rather than later.

In many ways having a greenhouse is a disadvantage, since before I had the space, I had to fit everything into my tiny added-onto-the-carport sunporch. This pretty much limited overwintering to about 15 geraniums and a potted tomato or two. Now, although my greenhouse is small, 8' x 10', I am able to be somewhat greedy, and every fall I manage to squeeze a few more favorite guys in.



There are still some bigger plants that need to come in before it gets really cold. I left them outside yesterday because they are semi-hardy and can take some light frost and because I don't have any more room at the moment. Now comes the question of what to do about the melons and sweet potatoes, which are hognoiding the south wall of my greenhouse. The melon vines, though copious, have only a couple of small, presumably unripe melons hanging from them. I say presumably because they are somewhat smaller than I had imagined they would be, though how would I know? I've never grown these varieties before. The infamous sweet potatoes are also happily growing along, and I suppose will continue to grow until the next millennium, since the greenhouse will not freeze (I use a small space heater to keep the lows at around 38). Shall I cast these fellows out into the snow now or later? See how long the sweet potatoes grow but call it quits on the melons? The spirit of research is wavering...

Not technically snowing