We had a cold and very snowy February. For almost half of the month, there was so much snow in the backyard that I couldn't easily get to the compost heap, let alone the apple trees that stand in a line at the back of the yard.
I don't worry about that; there aren't many garden chores in this season. All living things require rest to face the demands of the growing season and a dormant winter provides that rest. But I have grown accustomed to frequent winter walks through my quiet backyard for the opportunity to daydream about the things I will plant in the spring.
My garden stockpile from the fall is nearly exhausted. The local market's store of fall apples is considerably shrunken. All of this is more bearable come March, when the cold dark days begin to yield to days with temperatures in the 40s, then the 50s, and soon enough day after day in the 60s. When that happens, these trees will come alive, with tiny green buds and the prospect of apples and pears.
But at the moment, with cold snow on the ground, it seems so unlikely that I will have buds of prospective fruit in this garden. So I remind myself that there is a season for every growing thing. And a patient gardener will eventually be rewarded.
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