Garden crisis: I have confirmed the awful fact that we are living in Zone 3. Is it okay to scream now? For a person who was last gardening in Zone 6, it came as an awful shock when I read in the new book Gardens Adirondack Style by Janet Loughry that the hamlet closest to us, which lies far below us, is Zone 3. This climate dilemma is all due to the elevation. There are areas at our latitude in the ADK that are Zone 4, but they’re not as high as we are. So I asked Ken, “Did you ever check the GPS to find our elevation?” He nodded. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. We’re at about 1750 feet." Gulp.
Weeks ago I figured we couldn’t be more than 1600 feet, based on the elevations of places around us. But 1750? This means our summertime nights will be all the cooler. This means we absolutely must add the complication of raised beds, row covers, and all that extra expense and work. I told Ken to get ready for another garden pow-wow. More to follow.
Sophie and I have discovered a new trail. The nicest thing about it is that it’s close to the house, isn’t difficult to navigate, and takes just a little over twenty minutes if we walk briskly. That’s all the time I have for a walk before leaving for work at 7:15 a.m.
It’s a wooded walk that winds along next to the bog and then loops around through the woods until it ends on the property of a small two-story abandoned house, complete with worn-out asbestos shingles. According to neighbors, the owners suddenly stopped spending time up here about eight to ten years ago and left the house just as it sits. Through the open windows, kitchen curtains flutter in the north wind, and behind them is an antique refrigerator. A car that dates back to the days just before World War II languishes in the woods adjoining the meadow. I haven’t investigated the car or the house up close because I don’t want Sophie to get cut on broken glass that might be lying near them. Someday I’ll have to walk alone so I can get a closer look. I’m fascinated by abandoned houses. There’s a mystique about them; I think they offer up the suggestion of past lives and departed worlds.
On Saturday morning Sophie and I took a delicious ramble. We hopped on the trail out the back of the house and walked to the southeast. I forced my way through a rough section with lots of downed trees, which is easier to do now that there is less snow in the woods. Once I got beyond the roughness, the trail opened up and soon there were trails going in every direction! I was so amazed—Despite my knee, I had to see where at least one of them went. Sophie and I were outside all morning, and I still don’t know where the trail I followed ends up. The trail network consist of hunting trails evidently. I saw several crude wooden ladders nailed into large trees with hunting platforms on top.
The world was beautiful—the two inches of wet snow that had fallen overnight was melting, and everything was dripping. The moisture was lovely, though—fresh and clean. The forest is slowly awakening.
Weeks ago I figured we couldn’t be more than 1600 feet, based on the elevations of places around us. But 1750? This means our summertime nights will be all the cooler. This means we absolutely must add the complication of raised beds, row covers, and all that extra expense and work. I told Ken to get ready for another garden pow-wow. More to follow.
Sophie and I have discovered a new trail. The nicest thing about it is that it’s close to the house, isn’t difficult to navigate, and takes just a little over twenty minutes if we walk briskly. That’s all the time I have for a walk before leaving for work at 7:15 a.m.
It’s a wooded walk that winds along next to the bog and then loops around through the woods until it ends on the property of a small two-story abandoned house, complete with worn-out asbestos shingles. According to neighbors, the owners suddenly stopped spending time up here about eight to ten years ago and left the house just as it sits. Through the open windows, kitchen curtains flutter in the north wind, and behind them is an antique refrigerator. A car that dates back to the days just before World War II languishes in the woods adjoining the meadow. I haven’t investigated the car or the house up close because I don’t want Sophie to get cut on broken glass that might be lying near them. Someday I’ll have to walk alone so I can get a closer look. I’m fascinated by abandoned houses. There’s a mystique about them; I think they offer up the suggestion of past lives and departed worlds.
On Saturday morning Sophie and I took a delicious ramble. We hopped on the trail out the back of the house and walked to the southeast. I forced my way through a rough section with lots of downed trees, which is easier to do now that there is less snow in the woods. Once I got beyond the roughness, the trail opened up and soon there were trails going in every direction! I was so amazed—Despite my knee, I had to see where at least one of them went. Sophie and I were outside all morning, and I still don’t know where the trail I followed ends up. The trail network consist of hunting trails evidently. I saw several crude wooden ladders nailed into large trees with hunting platforms on top.
The world was beautiful—the two inches of wet snow that had fallen overnight was melting, and everything was dripping. The moisture was lovely, though—fresh and clean. The forest is slowly awakening.
posted by Judith at 6:12 PM
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