Yep, it really is over.
I love how these once-hopeful plant markers now look like little headstones. Oh, New England. I love your beautiful winter grimness.
Meant to post this a few weeks ago, when the first big snow hit and the final surviving mini kale got buried for good. Prior to the dump, the little guys were hanging on. Not thriving, mind you. Just stayin’ alive at about six inches tall.
But I digress…
My hope was, of course, to eat just one leaf this year. And declare victory. But I just kept waiting for the plants to get, you know… kale-sized. And then the snow came. Na ja, as the Germans say. And next year…(as the Sox fans say).
I haven’t been here for a few months. I was inspired to return with this inevitable report by a conversation with a long-lost friend today, who — it turns out — has become a master gardener during our many years apart. Our long talk made me immensely happy, a little teary and very grateful for the magic of Facebook. It also inspired me to visit my much-neglected blog.
(Sidenote: if you’ve lost a dear friend for 20-some years and suddenly find her online, send that message and make the call! I’ve been working on a theory that those we love, we love forever. Even when we lose each other for decades. Today went into my growing “theory confirmed” pile. People’s spirits don’t change, just the details of their lives. Thank you, Jana, for still being you… and being happy to hear from me!)
But back to gardening. Winter sucks! This b.s. of trying to keep plants alive indoors sucks! It’s no fun. (Sorry to all the true houseplant lovers.) As my friend said today, “that’s why we have seasons.” I guess so. (You can believe I will be calling said friend plenty throughout the coming seasons… I warned her, she’s my new master gardener consultant. I’ll take phone a friend, please!)
My windowsills are filled to capacity with friends yearning for light and warmth. Some will probably make it through the next few months, and live to see the summer sun once more. Others, well…
That was my favorite Coleus. The ruffly purple and green one that’s survived two summers outside and one winter inside already. I still have a baby version alive in a pot. It’s not dead yet, but looking a little “leggy” and dead-stemmy.
As Eminen would say, “That’s why they call it window pain.”
RIP mommy Coleus.
And Godspeed, little offshoot!