Last Saturday, when the temperatures reached the high fifties, I made it a mission to get to the Beach Farm. I hadn't been in three months. The snow was still high in spots, bare ground in others. It was fun to think of how the wind and rain and objects colluded to mold the snow that had fallen.
Here, snow over a foot deep, sits in layers, a story of our winter's weather, a glacier on the rise.
And everywhere signs of November-planted garlic.
In the cool blue shadows, Allium sativum.
Where the sun has done its work, early garlic is proud.
Scanning the mounds and valleys, a pattern emerges.
Everywhere, garlic surmounts the crunchy snow.
Upon quick inspection the crocus looked so neat, so orderly. Why?
Huh? Frost bitten? No.