The first hard frost of this growing season arrived last Tuesday night. Tuesday night was the night for a Special Town Meeting, and it was cool and chilly as I walked from the car into our elementary school auditorium. There was a quorum, and we finished the night’s business in fifty eight minutes. As I started home shortly after eight, the thermometer on the dashboard of the car went from 32° to 31° to 30° to 29° to 28°, in the mile and a half, five minute trip home. At home, out of the car, I looked up through the oak branches. The hard black sky was jeweled with untold thousands of stars. I went inside, started a fire in the woodstove, and not too long afterwards, went to bed. At dawn, it was still hard cold. The house thermometer registered 29°. Out at the airport, where the ground is lower, to where cold air sinks and flows to, their thermometer read 19°. I put shoes and a jacket on, and went to see what the cold had brought. A wire Buddha sculpture made by my youngest daughter is where the greenhouse themometer hangs.
The oats and radish cover crop were almost as white as if they’d been snowed on.
Why hadn’t I picked that last bouquet of nasturtiums?????
Parsley leaf edges were perfectly limned with a frosty fringe.
Was there any conversation between cousins parsley and celeriac?
I heard nothing.