Still sleeping

Winter is still in control. It's icy grip lays over the land, relinquishing nothing.  Not a trace of spruce tips- too early for that-  poplar buds frozen solid, with sticky resin inside that burns my tounge with its pungency and balsamic taste, it will be weeks before it is time to harvest that medicine- not even the hawthorn buds are swelling.





The ocean of snow, perfectly poised with precision- waves waiting to crash in on themselves when the skin kisses the vast expanse.  But for now- seeds lay sleeping far beneath the icy waves.

Hawthorn buds in waiting

I've been remiss in visiting my spiny hawthorn tree for the Tree Year in the fields below.  Crossing the ocean of snow is daunting.  She is still sleeping as well.  Wild cucumber and grape vines dangle lifelessly from her spiny arms, also waiting.  No sign of bird nor squirrel.  Just waves of snow 5 ft deep.


But the birches have birchkins...thats my word for catkins...because really they aren't cats, they are birches, and birchkins sounds more fun. 

birchkins

 

 It is supposed to storm again this weekend, but could end up being rain, so instead of working today like I had planned ( had a list going even) I went outside. The first time in months it feels like.  It really did take about 30 min to get dressed and get the snowshoes on and get the dog ready, but it was almost warm in the 25 degree sunshine.  But the snow doesn't think so, nor do the poplar buds. 

So here we are, all the plants, and all the herb folk still locked in winters icy reign- still sleeping, still hibernating, still awaiting the kiss of the sun prince to wake us from the 100 day slumber.