dark furrow
a quiet almanac of soil and sky
night, the twenty-first of july
winter
the ground is still. the light is short.
rest is not emptiness, it is preparation.
bare frozen furrowshold the memory of seedbeneath the long dark
sky
clear and bitter, or clouded and raw. either way, stay in.
- first quarter, 56% lit
- sunrise 6:14 am · sunset 8:27 pm
- 14h 13m of daylight (-1.3 minutes from yesterday)
- civil dusk 8:56 pm · sailor's dark 9:32 pm · true dark 10:10 pm
the moon is in its first quarter. plant things that fruit: tomatoes, peppers, beans, squash. the increasing light favors strong stems and heavy fruit.
the pleiades are high overhead, seven sisters in a tight knot of light
an ice storm has no folk name. people just called it "the glaze." everything coated, everything heavy, branches snapping in the dark. the most dangerous storm is the one that looks beautiful.
garden
in the ground now
- order seeds early, the good ones sell out
- sharpen things, mend things, read the catalogs
- start planning next year, draw the beds on paper
- the garden is not gone, it is just below
this week
- check stored produce. one rotting potato ruins the box. sort through everything monthly.
- maintain tools. replace handles, tighten bolts, sharpen edges. winter is for repair.
good neighbors
- group the heavy feeders together so the cover crop next fall has somewhere honest to do its work
- beside each tomato spot, a place for basil and a place for marigold, plan it now while the lines are clean
- give the alliums a row of their own, the brassicas can sit beside them but the legumes must keep their distance
bad neighbors
- do not draw the strawberries next to the cabbages, the strawberries will quietly fail and you will not know why
- on the same paper, draw a line between the onions and the peas, do not let them meet again this year
- never two seasons of brassicas in the same square, the soil keeps a grudge and the cabbage worms keep an address
kitchen
in season
- potatoes in every form, the reliable companion
- bake something and give half away
- hot cider with cinnamon on the stove
- preserved things from the shelves, last summer in a jar
tonight
- stews that cook all afternoon, no rush now
putting up
- check the krauts. skim what's floated, weight what's risen, taste once a week.
- cold weeks are smoking weather. country hams hang in the meat house. bacon comes out of the cure and goes over the fire. cold smoke holds best below forty degrees.
foraging
- oyster mushrooms on dead hardwoods after a warm spell. they fruit in the cold.
- pine needle tea, from white pine or other soft pines. sharp and bright and full of vitamin c.
- dried rose hips if you stored them. brew with honey for cold nights.
- witch hazel bark, harvested carefully. steep for a skin wash.
winter foraging is quiet work. the land is not dead, just still. there is always something if you know where to look and what to ask for.
folklore
the cold moon. the long night moon. the wolf moon in january, when they howled at the door. the anglo-saxons called december giuli, the yule month, when the sun stands still and then returns. the longest dark, and then the turn.
elderberry syrup, a spoonful daily if you made it in the fall. the best cold prevention there is. winter remedies are simple. warmth, rest, broth, tea. the old knowledge was never complicated. it was just paying attention to what the body asks for when the light is short.
almost nothing. that is the gift of winter.