Winter Solstice Explained

There is a common misconception about the Winter Solstice that I shall attempt to clarify here.

Even the calendars have it wrong. December 22 or even December 21 in some years, are not the start of winter. Those dates are the start of the gardening year. Anyone who is a gardener understands that intuitively.

It isn't even the measly extra minute or two we get daily from the low-hanging Sun that makes the shift a reality. My theory is we get the news from the ground itself, which starts calling us to put down our knitting and pick up those seed catalogs that have been piling up since before Thanksgiving.

Sure, here in Missouri, we've already had three proper snowfalls of at least five inches The ponds are freezing in an unstable way. The edges of the Grand River down from my place have had frozen shallow water at the edges.

More snow, some freezing rain and periodic thaws are definitely ahead until at least late February. That's not the point.

The point is something has happened inwardly. It's the same force that turned us away from gardening in September. Oh, sure, we made yet another feeble attempt at a fall garden. Once again, it was not a fabulous success.

Now, it's back to Life and Living in the gardening world. Every day that the ground isn't frozen hard is a cause for rejoicing and even a little gardening.

Today, it was gray and threatening to rain. Recovering from slipping on my tush in the mud above the river, I could not sit comfortably. It didn't mean I was unable to work in the vegetable garden. Here is the new tier Lissa is building for me.

What better time, with the temperature in the forties, to lay out cardboard for another Perma Bed?

Yesterday, I got out the fence tool and freed the big compost cage I kept filling all last summer. Myriad other gardening fun things await. Only snow can stop these activities from going forward.

My son-in-law Kevin works to build bridges in dreadfully cold weather. Next to him, I look like a retired grandmother, which of course I am.

Planning is what the season calls for.  My son gave me Christmas cash, which makes ordering gardening equipment from the seed catalogs much more of a possibility. Shall I order the pole bean tower or make my own from old garden cart wheels? In addition, I have my sights on a lovely trellis for something to climb up.

Will the Salvia farinaca survive the winter to bloom another season? Will the Nicotiana syvestris reseed? Here are the remnants of last year's beauties, still gorgeous in my mind's eye.

Can I squeeze in another two, possibly six, daylilies? Why did I get a place with so much woods and so little garden space? These questions fill my thoughts.

Here is the patch of fall-planted spinach that so far has overwintered. See? The ground is getting ready to burst forth with life. But first, a brief  message from Winter.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Only a few more days. I can barely wait. My preparations are complete. When I nestle all snug in my flannel snowman sheets at night, I  have visions not of sugar-plums ( whatever they are) but of  broccoli.

One of my calendars says it is the First Day of Winter. That's wrong. It's my favorite time, the Winter Solstice, after which it is perfectly permissible to think about the coming year's garden plans.

I can't help it, I'm a gardener. That's how we are. There is this pull from the earth as the days finally start to get longer.  Soon it will be slowly moving toward life and living!

Yes, I know  "when the days begin to lengthen, the cold begins to strengthen."  Let's not dwell on that. This is the time for big plans, made easier because there is no danger of hard work for months. It's armchair gardening at its finest.

Although I am prohibited by a self-imposed rule to refrain from looking at the new seed and plant catalogs until Christmas afternoon, there's no stopping me from making soil amendments.

Already, I have been sprinkling bits of charcoal from the wood stove on the garden and lily bed.  I've added some chicken manure from the top of the nest box to the compost heap.

The soil is just lying there, cold and wet and forlorn. I was not able to work much organic matter into it last summer, with all that rain. However, there's no sense in dwelling on the failures of gardens past.

Now, it's not possible for me to glance at the front border when bringing in wood, without noticing some spots where new plants could go. Also seen are places where nasty invasive grass has taken hold. I mentally destroy it, using tiny land mines. Kablowie!

I had to glue the binding on one of my favorite garden books, Annuals for Every Purpose. It's a great reference book, but doesn't seem to be holding up under normal use. I was checking why my Gazanias are growing so well now, after many hard freezes, when they are supposed to be frost sensitive and prefer heat and dry conditions. I missed the part about digging them up in the fall for house plants. Now, they are in awfully wet soil and I daren't risk it.

A few days ago, we had so much rain that the river got out of its banks again.The Grand at the flood is a mighty river. Perhaps this season I should concentrate on wetlands plantings. Right now, I could just dig a hole anywhere for an instant lily pond.

While not peeking at the catalogs, I've worked puzzles featuring flowers and seed packets, watched Greenfingers again and fall asleep praying for a better year for cabbages.

Of course I'm ready for Christmas. I've baked three kinds of cookies. There will be a turkey dinner. The lights are up. My presents are wrapped. Plans are made for me to see the grandkids and my grown children. No one can tell that my thoughts are sneakily turning to the upcoming gardening year. That's if they don't know me very well.

Winter Solstice

Tonight's the night!  I'm sure all gardeners feel this inexorable pull toward springtime.  Back to Life and Living!  Yay.

This is where denial is such a handy tool.  To say that it is the first day of winter is to miss the point entirely.  The earth, after some hesitation, will slowly start to tilt back towards the sun for us in the northern hemisphere.  Too bad for people in the southern hemisphere; they've had their turn.

Every day is a day closer to spring, that most marvelous time of year.

How wonderful that some astronomer or scientist somewhere knows the exact time this will happen tonight.  It's a mathematical certainty, along with when the moon will rise and set.  I leave it to those guys.

Having checked the Old Farmer's Almanac, I am counting down the hours.  The wine is chilling.

I am saving the rest of the celebration for Christmas Day, when I break out the new seed catalogs.