Saison, I
I threw out the annual rye seeds way back in early December, just a couple of days before Winter Part One. Austin, I maintain, has two winters – each lasting for a period of 2-5 days. Winter Part One typically happens in late November or early December, followed by two full months of springlike conditions, and finally Winter Part Two, which happens in late February or early March.
Winter Part One laid waste to our humble little garden, and so, too, the rye seeds were frozen solid. The telltale sign that the seeds hadn’t survived was that when springlike conditions returned after two days of 20 degree sludge, none of the grackles, doves or squirrels took any interest in them. “What a complete waste of time that was,” I said both aloud and to myself.
Advent came and went. New Year’s happened. Epiphany entered and exited. The hot streak continued, as did the record-setting spell of rainlessness. A few pockets of rye sprouted up, but the majority of the seeds were still visible on the ground, worthless I was certain.
When the groundhog saw his shadow, there was no reason to believe that the land of Tejas was under his jurisdiction. Saint Brigid did in fact bring us some rain, but the weather was still more springish than winterly. After the slight wet was immediately soaked up by the cracked earth and 70 degree sun, everyone declared Austin’s winter “over.” But I didn’t flinch. I knew Winter Part Two would arrive in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. And I was right. We are now in day three of a bonafide cold front, complete with the thinnest layer of icy drizzle you can imagine.
But, before you start thinking I’m too full of myself, let me tell you how I was wrong, too. No sooner than the sun had returned from Saint Brigid’s moisture-blessing than the Abbey had itself a yard loosely peppered with bright green rye. A tried-and-true germination resurrection! If it didn’t go the way of Lazarus, it at least went the way of Walt Disney’s most desperate scientific grasp, sans cryogenic sophistication.
Knowing that Winter Part Two was only a day away, I decided to call upon an encore from nature. Connor and I faithfully broadcast the remaining rye seeds all about the bald spots in the yard. Hopefully we’ll have a bright green lawn by the time Saint Patrick comes to visit.
Just goes to show: not only do you never know which seeds will end up taking root, but you can’t even be certain when the good seeds will bear fruit. The farmer can only toss ‘em out there every season and stay in a posture of meekness with the earth he hopes to inherit.
Winter Part One laid waste to our humble little garden, and so, too, the rye seeds were frozen solid. The telltale sign that the seeds hadn’t survived was that when springlike conditions returned after two days of 20 degree sludge, none of the grackles, doves or squirrels took any interest in them. “What a complete waste of time that was,” I said both aloud and to myself.
Advent came and went. New Year’s happened. Epiphany entered and exited. The hot streak continued, as did the record-setting spell of rainlessness. A few pockets of rye sprouted up, but the majority of the seeds were still visible on the ground, worthless I was certain.
When the groundhog saw his shadow, there was no reason to believe that the land of Tejas was under his jurisdiction. Saint Brigid did in fact bring us some rain, but the weather was still more springish than winterly. After the slight wet was immediately soaked up by the cracked earth and 70 degree sun, everyone declared Austin’s winter “over.” But I didn’t flinch. I knew Winter Part Two would arrive in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. And I was right. We are now in day three of a bonafide cold front, complete with the thinnest layer of icy drizzle you can imagine.
But, before you start thinking I’m too full of myself, let me tell you how I was wrong, too. No sooner than the sun had returned from Saint Brigid’s moisture-blessing than the Abbey had itself a yard loosely peppered with bright green rye. A tried-and-true germination resurrection! If it didn’t go the way of Lazarus, it at least went the way of Walt Disney’s most desperate scientific grasp, sans cryogenic sophistication.
Knowing that Winter Part Two was only a day away, I decided to call upon an encore from nature. Connor and I faithfully broadcast the remaining rye seeds all about the bald spots in the yard. Hopefully we’ll have a bright green lawn by the time Saint Patrick comes to visit.
Just goes to show: not only do you never know which seeds will end up taking root, but you can’t even be certain when the good seeds will bear fruit. The farmer can only toss ‘em out there every season and stay in a posture of meekness with the earth he hopes to inherit.
posted by gdwill at 2:46 PM
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