This past year was dog-dominated. Zoe’s illness and death, building a dog fence, searching for a pup and adult dog—we had eleven months straight of thinking about dogs. But now our little pack is complete again.
Our house feels satisfyingly full of life and just right. We can finally can turn our full attention to other things—and bring the dogs along.
So, here we are, heads full of outside projects and bodies eager for physical work–primed and ready to go. Only to be thwarted by weather. Last year, March found us pruning, moving our raised beds, digging drainage, and preparing for planting.
Last March
Not this year.
This March
Closer up, the little swale is solid ice.
March has been kind of a brat. The deep snow from our February storms lingered for weeks.
By the time March pranced in, all lamb-like and sweet, it was mostly melted. The soft air, smelling of new growth, lasted for two brief days before we descended into an icebox.
Lilac buds before the cold
Sticky pine buds
Not a surprise. March in Maine is notorious for weather extremes. And, sure enough, after the first cold, mild weather returned, which combined with longer daylight teased us for a few days into thinking that spring might be approaching. I walked the property looking for the emergence of some of the bulbs that I planted last fall. Not a one. I was disappointed, but not for long, because temperatures plummeted again giving us the coldest weather that we’ve experienced since we moved to Maine.
New poppy growth on the south side of the house had emerged and then got zapped by the cold.
The temperature kept dropping after we got up yesterday until it hit 4 below zero (Fahrenheit) mid-morning, with screeching winds, driving wind-chills to about 25 below.
Perhaps the bulbs knew better than to poke their delicate stems into an impending arctic blast. If my bees were still alive, I would be very worried about them surviving these extreme variations in temperature.
Unhappy rhododendrons
This late deep chill cannot be easy on our local wildlife. The ground is frozen solid and any emerging shoots have had all succulence stripped by the cold. We have seen a few signs of the fox near last year’s den, but our fenced-in area comes much closer to the den now, so I suspect the fox will not be raising its kits there this year. We have had plenty of rabbit tracks in our woods, but very little sign of deer this winter.
Therefore, we were surprised when, during the warm spell, we saw a dead deer, lying about twenty feet off of the road in a field on the hillside down our road toward town. It was a full-sized adult and had already been partially eaten by some largish animal. We suspected coyotes, but there weren’t evident tracks and little sign of a struggle.
Lots of deer tracks on the roadside but no coyote tracks
A neighbor had seen a deer the day before that had seemed “not quite right,” so we wonder if it had been grazed and injured by a car and then easily taken down by a coyote or, perhaps just died on its own. We did hear coyotes howling the next night, for the first time all year, right below our property. In any case, the deer carcass attracted eagles, which hunkered in the large trees lining the field, overlooking the bolder crows and ravens. The smaller birds cawed and called at the eagles, flying up to the trees near them, whether to try to warn them off or not, I don’t know, but it was fascinating to watch.
Immature bald eagle. He was huge.
The cold is not all bad. It has given me time to finish up my indoor winter projects. Spring cleaning—ugh, I hate housework—is underway. And I finished my kaleidoscope quilt.
The quilt is made of fabrics that reflect our life here in Maine—foxes, birds, cows, the ocean, the sky, garden flowers and vegetables, wild flowers and plants, apples, bees—all in there, in little triangular pieces, forming larger circle-like kaleidoscope designs.
New potholders from the quilt scraps. That’s a stuffed opossum on the floor, not a dead animal.
Now that the quilt is finished, the sewing area–with a bank of southern-facing windows—will be converted to our seedling nursery.
I started onions and leeks two weeks ago and am planting celery, chard, lettuce, and herbs today. Last year I used a variety of pots for the seedlings—peat, plastic, and yogurt cups. The best planters by far were gallon water jugs. I poked drainage holes with scissors and cut around the middle. I left a hinged area last year, but probably will cut off the hinges as I plant more this year, because the hinged tops take up too much room.
Little greenhouses
I left the tops down, cloche-like, when I wanted an extra green-house effect and lifted them up when it got hot and moist. I had read about this method on-line and decided to give it a try. They worked brilliantly. I didn’t need a heat mat or grow lamps. Granted we get a lot of sun in our windows, but the greenhouse effect of the bottle really made a difference in heating the soil. When it’s time to harden off, again the tops serve to heat the soil and protect the plants from wind when they are set outside. They transplant easily and I had no problems with damping off (I did with some of the peat pots). I was converted and will be using only water jugs this year.
While it feels like mid-winter outside, the chickadees’ sweet mating calls continue, and we have warm soil and seedlings inside. Happy March.
After March’s spring tease, April was a reality check. My dreams of early gardening died a nasty death. The ground froze. It snowed. More than once. It iced. It rained. The wind blew from the north, the west, and now the southeast, a ferocious force here on our hillside. We now are under a high wind and flood warning. Fortunately, we are too high for floods, but the wind is making the house talk. I’m hoping we don’t lose power before I finish this post.
He strutted and puffed along behind his ladies.
Until the truck distracted him. He did not know what to make of the other Tom he saw in the bumper. 
Puzzled at first, he peered from below, above, and to the side. When it didn’t go away, he started attacking his reflection. Silly boy.
George has been busy since fall clearing brush and cutting trees in the area below our lawn. He is clearing back to a curve of ancient apple trees. 
We will have our garden beds and a sitting area in the cleared space. We don’t have the equipment to pull the stumps and big rocks, however, so hired someone to bring in a little backhoe to do the job. Maine’s glacial hills are rock strewn and ours is no exception.
And we’re talking rocks of substance, not little nubbly things. 
We have some new stone walls in the making. I am in awe of the early settlers who cleared these Maine woods.
So much work to clear fields. And when farmers moved West after the Civil War, the fields grew up so quickly again.
olddogsnewtruck 