Writer's Retreat

It's become a destination. Whenever I enter, something has changed. Bloomed, budded, leafed.

I hardly recognize the geranium stubs I started in the living room in November.

The resilience of plants is something I strive to emulate. All they need is water, light, and warmth.

 Love helps, too.

Crown of Thorns. I want to cut it back but it won't stop blooming.

Teeny tiny Hawaiian impatiens.

Basking Zick

I've strung lights on Rosemary.

The Baby Butterhead lettuce is coming in, nice and sweet. I keep it near the floor where it will stay cool and not bolt.

Sweet fake of summer, the jasmine's in bloom. It looks pathetic but it's leafing out at last. And blooming, first. Thank you.

These greens are good for the eyes and spirit.

I have yet to tire of the primroses.

Best ten bucks I've ever spent.

Chet has his own chair. We keep three in there, one for me, a guest (usually Bill), and Chet. There wasn't room for even a stool in the Garden Pod. I always stood up when I was in there. But this is more like a little atrium. It's a room. A place to be.

And why shouldn't I have my own chair?

Mether thinks I look like George Clooney with my gray eyebrows.

A Room of One's Own

Things that are good for the winter-weary soul.

I made a lot of noise about what a pain in the asp it was to build the Groanhouse. Well, it was. But even as I wrote those posts and cursed those curses, I kept a vision in mind that, in the end, it would all be worthwhile doing. That one day I'd have this fabulous structure I would love even more than I loved my little Garden Pod.

That vision was like the end-of-the-day glass of Sauvignon Blanc, waiting to soothe me as the sun sinks in glory. And it seems it has arrived.

All the plants are installed. The geraniums I tore so violently from their pots, the divisions that lost all their leaves and apparently died have all resprouted, and most are in full bud. I cannot wait until Graffitti Red breaks out in fireworks.

Happy Thought Pink won't be far behind. She has a flower the color of rose gentian.

Chet Baker and I spend a significant amount of time in the greenhouse, especially on sunny afternoons. Which are rare as Reba's upper lip this winter.

Don't let his expression fool you. Chet is very, very happy in this picture.

Most of the time, it's warm inside and cold outside, so the greenhouse is one big condensation tank. You can't see much through the windows.

It fairly drips with humidity. Which is really, really nice when you're feeling parched by forced air heat. It's relaxing, right, Chet?

On the rare warm day, touching 65, as it did on January 12 and 13, the temperature inside and outside equalize and the condensation momentarily disappears. O joy! And the greenhouse contents are revealed.

And it looks so cool, like something's going on in there. And something is. Growing and thriving and changing and blooming.

Come in!

the weather's fine.

Heat is provided by a little space heater (left corner) which runs off the gas which comes out of our land via a wellhead on the back 40. It's piped up the meadow and right into the house. That heater's been working overtime, but it looks like it's got what it takes to keep the place warm when the temps dip into the 20's. We'll see what happens should we hit the single digits.