Friday, November 20, 2009

Winter, Again

The veggies are packed in their boxes, moist, cold, and ready to go into the cellar. they've been ready for two days now. I found out that the other agway nearby is open until 6, so that solved my problem (in case you're wondering - some small woodlots might carry wood shavings, but most sell them now, which is why I buy the stuff rather than sourcing it for free). The veggies going into the cellar tonight with the help of a friend who doesn't know he's going to help me with this task. It's not that I can't carry the boxes. It's that I can't get the cellar door open myself. it's too heavy for me - though I clearly remember opening it once before myself. For future reference - it's actually a bad idea to leave veggies out in the mild temperatures without high humidity for this long - but I had no choice, so I hope they'll be forgiving. In my experience, so long as you don't really mess up, it'll be fine.

When storing veggies, you should expect a 5 - 10% loss of veggies over the course of the winter due to rot or other problems. Check the vegetable regular and cull out bad ones because mold spreads! As for the balance of eating the stuff that's spoiling or eating the fresh stuff - it depends on the mood of the day. sometimes I get sick of eating only the worst veggies, so I let a few go bad and eat the nice ones. Sometimes I'm more sensible and eat the molding ones..

Winter, Again - and poetry:

Excluding me, there's only one other person I can think of off the top of my head whose favorite season is winter. I can understand what's not to like - it's cold, dark, and (most would say, and I would argue it's not so) you're stuck indoors. Driving is difficult.

But to me winter is when the air is the clearest. Winter is bright stars and a clear view of the mountains. It's a dramatically beautiful and changing landscape. Winter is walking through the forest in bright orange without being stopped by underbrush. It is stews, cuddling under heavy blankets, and long nights talking with friends. Winter is incredibly cozy. It's the season to read, bake, and dream. Everyone told me I'd get over winter once I started driving. That kind of sensibility has yet to kick in. Or, rather, that it seems silly to me to hate a season for such an arbitrary and small reason. Plus, getting stuck is an adventure. it's something new.

For me, winter is the season of writing. (Please realize how hard it is for me to just put the poem down without disclaimers - but no disclaimers (except this one)! They don't help!)

Winter, Again

It is winter
The trees have given way to
mountainsides - soft waves -
hips, shoulder blades - pale
beneath the naked trees.

It is impossible not
to lose myself in last
winter. Ice in floes
on the lake, the same smell
of the stove.

When you loved
winter too.
The way you spoke
of you -
subtle silences of breath hanging
in the air.

It is impossible now
to remember what spring was -
how her flowers dried in the
strange heat, when the mountains

dressed themselves, hid
their secret stones beneath young
leaves uncurling, forgetting
that we both loved

winter -
subtle silence
the waves in the hills.

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