Klowns in my Koffee

In my makeshift office between the living room and the dining room, the glowing monitor makes a central altar bridging two sets of huge double windows facing the snowy landscape. A light dusting of snow has been falling at a constant pace all morning. The winds kicks it up, sending silver sparkles across the lawn.

My grandmother believed in heaven. It's easy to think of her perched up there turning the handle on the giant flour sifter that uniformly and continuously blankets the yard in a precisely measured dose of snow just like she used to top a cake with confectioners' sugar.

The street itself shows no sign of pavement or even tire ruts. Three whitetail deer meander down the center and, alerted by an opened door, spring across a neighbor's yard into the white swirl. Another photographic opportunity missed.

They are out there and they are coming. Any day now, the mailbox will reveal bright photos of fat, sassy vegetables and page after page of flowers and apples trees and tomatoes.

The Jung Seed catalog usually shows up first. Look for the picture of the onion next to a softball and the horseradish root that's really shaped like a horse ... if you squint and are optimistic.

And you should because gardening is about optimism.

Every year, the garden starts anew. Maybe this year, the Swiss Chard that every book says is so easy to grow will come up. Not enough room for corn, but how about adding an asparagus patch? And raspberries! Have you seen how much they cost in the grocery store? So many catalogs and only so much plantable space.

There will be time for this in February and March. For now, let the garden rest and wait.