While I was inside nursing the remnants of my head cold, Sally was out in the back yard making her garden grow. She’s got a green thumb, that girl. And a carpenters hand.
Sexy, in our new ‘organic, natural, rustic, sustainable and back-to-basics’ kinda way.
She wanted to make the back half of the new garden box a bit of a cold frame. So she framed the garden box interior with two by two’s and cut some clear, hard plastic to fit and, ‘voila’! She now has about 16 square feet of ‘greenhouse-in-a-box’ and, after an hour, when I went to see it, the temperature under the plastic was already a few degrees noticeably warmer than elsewhere. Today, she is planting.
Soon we’ll have veggies. This nature-thing is truly amazing stuff!
Mind you, it helps to have a Sally to get it done.
Speaking of natural; in the winter, our base population of 60 is cut to 40. People go South. Then, by Spring and in the Fall, it normalizes back to 60. Briefly. The summmer brings extras in the form of guests, visitors and transients and the population may swell to as many as 80 or 90! It is all part of a natural cycle. Here’s how it works:
Neigbours are now returning North like Canada Geese. Like the birds (snowbirds) the flocks of people are coming home to the islands to roost and get the cabin/nest ‘ready’. In the last couple of weeks, four cabins have filled with neighbour-folks all engaged in the ‘readying’ process. And this trend of arrivals will continue til the beginning of the summer when the next wave of ‘incoming’ take over. Visitors and guests come then. The population balloons through August and the first week of September. Think: a rookery of people.
Then they’ll leave by middle September and then the snowbird syndrome will kick in again and by January all those who are going to leave will have left for points South. This come-and-go has become one of the ritual migrations of our times, I guess. Evolution at it’s best.
This coming winter we will be amongst the ‘birds’ I think. That is the plan, anyway.
This is the best place in the world for me to live. Really. I love it. But that statement is only true for ten months of the year. The other two months aren’t hell, mind you. They are good. I like them, too. In fact, this winter passed very pleasantly. But, to be fair, by the time you get to February, you feel the need for some sunshine.
I didn’t used to feel that way. But I do now. By February, there is something kind of bleak creeping into my soul and it feels like only sunshine and a white sandy beach will fix it.
I think that if it was bright and sunny in January and February, I would not need a trip south because it is not warmth I crave, it is light. Anyway, our plan next year (2011/2012) is to head south. Probably Mexico. Drug wars be damned.
How and where we will end up are still up in the air but, if I had my preference, it would not involve actually being in the air. I have developed a profound distaste for flying. A bit more extreme than logic would explain. I just hate it. I hate all the airports, all the procedures, all the rules, all the schedules and I even hate the planes.
Even the flight attendants have no appeal anymore (Thai Air is the absolutely stunning exception).
Flying is not so bad but it takes too long. I can breathe my fellow passengers TB-ridden, Norwalk Virus-filled, influenza-riddled and oxygen deprived air for a few hours without gagging but anything more than four feels like I am sucking at the end of an exhaust pipe from a medical waste treatment facility. Detracts from the vacation experience somewhat, don’t you think?
I kept asking myself over the years: “what is the point of going somewhere to feel better if you are made to feel worse in the process of getting there?” So, I prefer to drive if I can. Hong Kong was a challenge. I tried to figure out a way. Seems they have not yet built a bridge over the Bering Strait. Damn.
So, Mexico beckons yet again. I may go down and rent a casita. Play some golf. Drink some Margaritas, dodge some bullets and try to avoid anyone who looks like they belong to the government, a drug cartel or a gang. Or the Federales. Or Policia.