Welcome Back, Old Man
Last fall, I harvested the fruit from our daughter’s apple tree. I decided to try my hand at starting an apple orchard from the seeds. Before heading south for a few weeks, I placed the seeds on a wet paper towel inside a baggie and stored them in the refrigerator.
Our travels to the south ended up being extended, more legs were added to the trip, and before I knew it, we were gone for three months, missing out on a good portion of winter!
Some people consider this quite fortunate, but I like winter. The snow, the cold, the wind; I love it all. (Although I could do without the ice storms.)
People at home told me, “You’re lucky. You dodged the big snow storms.” But I didn’t see it that way.
Returning home in midMarch, just one week before the first day of spring, I felt I had missed the bulk of the snow; but there was still hope. Minnesota winters have a tenacious history. Like a good boxer, they’ll bounce back to throw another punch, even after you thought the
bout was over.
I often tell people, “The spring equinox in northern Minnesota only marks the second coming of winter.” We were able to enjoy a few six-to-eight-inch snowfalls. I took advantage of these snowy days to bring about new life. When we returned home, I found my apple seeds had sprouted. I bought pots and trays, potting soil, and everything I would need to start my indoor apple orchard. I now have twenty-five apple trees growing in my house. Within a few days, my sprouts had leaves. I was thrilled!
I haven’t had a garden for about twenty years, but the apple trees motivated me to think about planting one in the spring. The problem with this notion is our soil; it has lots of clay and rocks, which is not ideal for gardening. But these minor details would not stop me. Raised garden beds would be the way to go for our yard. Although I’ve not built the gardens yet, I did get motivated enough to start thirty-six tomato plants in my house. Spring will be exciting, especially after this past winter which produced record amounts of snowfall.
I stood before my apple orchard in our three-season room, looking over the yard. There was still close to thirty inches of snow covering the whole yard. I began to daydream: although the apple trees won’t be planted
outdoors for at least another year, I will plant a variety of sunflowers and lupin to hide the lids and white tubes coming from our septic tank.
Farther back in the yard, I’ll sow seeds to completely cover our septic mound with flowers, creating a pollinator field for the bees. I’ll include milkweed to attract monarch butterflies. The sunflowers will draw birds, and the apple trees (in coming years) will draw bears. Come on, spring!
Over the next week, we had warmer weather and sunshiny days. Finally, the temperatures reached eighty degrees on
Wednesday, and the snow was melting fast. Our yard was reappearing from under winter’s blanket. The septic mound was completely free of snow. I got so excited; despite the potential chance of getting more snow, I called my neighbor Gene; he’s a fantastic gardener and would have good advice for me.
I told Gene about my ambitious plans for the various flowers and raised garden beds. “Maybe I’ll even venture into some cash crops. I might plant some marijuana,” I teased him. “There’s supposed to be good money in that.”
Get Them When You Can
I was sitting on the porch Wednesday morning just after sunrise, enjoying a cup of coffee. The dogs at my side seemed to be enjoying the warm spring morning as much as I was. I looked up toward the timber line at the far side of the dam and noticed a turkey strutting out into the opening. He was not gobbling but was awfully proud of himself as he fanned and strutted, causing his iridescent feathers to glisten in the early morning sunlight. I decided to have some fun with him. I quietly went back into the house and grabbed my turkey call. When I came back out, he was still flashing his feathers for all the hens to see. I made a few clucks on my call and he immediately answered with a gobble and started walking toward the top of the dam. He stopped periodically to gobble, and I would give him a few more clucks. He was making great progress at coming to the house when Jag noticed him. Jag must have thought I was going to shoot it, even though I did not have a gun, as he jumped up and started running toward the gobbler. The little dog is convinced I never miss a shot and wants to make sure he is the
first one to whatever downed prey I have. His enthusiasm has caused several opportunities to be missed because he runs out before a shot is fired. This morning, it did not matter. The gobbler turned and flew back to the timber. Jag seemed disappointed, but I had fun practicing my calling.
I purchased my spring turkey tags about two weeks before. I did not pay much attention to the starting date, only made sure it covered the weekend I wanted to hunt. Most hunting seasons start on a Saturday, so I just assumed this one did also. Later in the day, while getting all my hunting stuff together in preparation for the upcoming hunt, I noticed the date on my first turkey tag. My season started on Wednesday. I could have been sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee, a turkey call, and a shotgun. I could have gotten my gobbler if I had locked Jag in the garage and paid attention to my starting date.
Saturday morning was not nearly as pleasant as Wednesday had been. Winter had returned. The temperature was below freezing, and the sky was cloudy. There was enough of a breeze to make it feel even colder than it was. Before dawn I parked the Ranger in the timber and gathered my essentials. After a short hike, I set up at the edge of a timber near twin sluices in an area out of the wind. Near dawn, I heard a few Toms,
gobbling from their roost. None sounded very close, but I had faith I could move them like the one from the Wednesday before. With the heavy cloud cover, it seemed to take forever to get light. Even though I had enough clothes on to protect an arctic explorer, I was getting cold as I sat perfectly still. It was then I discovered I had left my coffee in the Ranger. The wind switched directions to blow directly in my face as it picked up velocity. The tur-
keys quit gobbling as the snow began to fall. I decided they did not appreciate the weather any more than I did. I always get tags for the last two seasons just so I do not have to hunt turkeys in weather like this. I packed up my stuff and headed back to the Ranger in what appeared to be a blizzard. I had a few gulps of my hot coffee and thought about missed opportunities only a few days ago. I should have gotten my turkey when I had the chance.
(Just the Other Day cont’d from pg 2)
“Good money until the cops show up,” Gene warned.
I replied, “If the cops come, I’ll tell them, ‘I don’t know anything about those plants. I let my neighbor Gene use part of my land for his gardens. Those must be his.’” We shared a good laugh about that, then discussed the pollinator field.
“I’ll come to help you once the snow is gone,” Gene offered.
“Look outside, Gene,” I said. “The sun is shining, the snow is melting, it’s warm and beautiful. It’s spring, my friend! We’re done with the snow.”
Gene was skeptical, “We’ll see about that.”
Meanwhile, I thought, Gene sure knows a lot about gardening, but not so much about the weather.
That same night the rain froze, sticking to the window screens on the house; a layer of sleet was covering the deck. At the break of dawn, still in my plaid pajamas, I slid into my snow boots and took Nova Mae out to potty. I nearly slipped and fell on my keester going down the icy front steps. While we walked about the yard, the sleet turned into snow; the flakes started getting bigger and bigger. Soon Nova’s black fur coat was turning white. “This could delay our gar-
den plans,” I told my trusty canine, giving her a rub on the head. I grabbed an armload of firewood, and we went inside to stoke the wood stove.
I stood before my tabletop apple orchard, looking out the big windows in our three-season room. It was cold, the skies were grey, and the heavy snow was coming down fast. The bare lawn in my yard and the septic mound was being buried by snow right before my eyes. By ten a.m., we had four inches of fresh snow.
At one in the afternoon, still in my pajamas, I slid my bare feet into my snow boots and put on a flannel shirt and bombers cap. I went outside, braving the elements, to poke my tape measure into the snow on the patio table.
“Eight inches,” I grumbled.
“Spring my foot; welcome back, Old Man Winter.”
By the end of the storm, thirteen inches of fresh
snow fell. Looking over my lot, and future garden sites, I said, “Here it is, April 20th, springtime, and my yard - all of it, is once again buried under the wrath of winter.” Then I smiled, “That’s just northern Minnesota – what are ya gonna do about it?” Although my plans to sow seeds would be delayed, I love the snow and decided to make the best of this day; in my kitchen.
A couple days before, my wife asked me to pick up a box of brownie mix while I was at the store. Unfortunately, I was already on my way home when I got her message, so I did not get the brownie mix. Fortunately, I did have everything on hand that I would need to make brownies. However, in all my years of baking, I have never made brownies from scratch.
And so it would be, on a cold, blustery April night, the snow was falling outside. But inside,
the wood stove kept the house warm and cozy as the sweet smell of freshly baked brownies filled the air.
We sat before the fire, feasting on warm, dark chocolate fudge squares of goodness. I laughed, “Yesterday, I told Gene I might grow marijuana in the yard. So now, here I am, baking brownies of all things – on 4-20. Lord, have mercy on me; what will the neighbors think?”
We shared a good laugh about that, and then each
had another brownie.
Outside, the wind kicked up, swirling around the chimney top and howling down the wood stove flue, trying to come in the house. “Welcome back, Old Man,” I said while admiring my little apple orchard. “How soon will you be leaving?”