winter blues

hate is a strong word.  i still have to use it here.  i hate winter.  i understand that it's necessary, and i am thankful for the cold so that we can have good crops.  i am thankful for the snow cover to blanket my bulbs.  i get it.  i want it to be good and cold and snowy.  i want all those garden pests to have a run for their money.  i love local and organic farms and am thrilled that i live in wisconsin where harsh winters (if they happen--which seems to be a toss up these days) make it possible to have a lush growing season.

like this one where my tomatoes took over and my cucumbers tried to make friends with everyone on the block.  where my scare-bird was lost in the jungle.  where my zinnias and calendulas and sunflowers and dahlias reached for the sun. where my
squash was so plentiful we used them for batting practice after they grew hard.  where my basil and cilantro and dill and thyme and oregano grew so tall and bushy, and i had bouquets and pestos all winter long.
thank you cold weather.








but.  winter.  i hate it.  i get depressed.  depression is a shady beast.  it's not like the tv ads all the time.  i get up, laugh, smile, make jokes, clean the house.  my husband seems no worse for the wear.  so here's how mine works:

i have no motivation.  i don't even want to go to sleep.  i don't want to move.  i certainly don't want to get stuff done or yarn dyed.  i am pissed off if the sun comes out--why waste that glorious orb on crap weather?  i sleep late and have no real interest in getting up. (in the summer, i can't wait to bound out of bed and greet the day.)  really, it just sneaks up like a low grade blah, staying for months.  nothing sparkles.  i feel like i am operating under a cloud--a heavy heavy cloud.  i don't know if it's the lack of sunlight or the cold.  most people say it's the sunlight, but i think it's the cold.  cold hurts.  my muscles stay tense, every step is trudge-y, and i never get to a comfortable temperature.  i really just don't want to move.  i want to sit in my bed and watch reruns of svu.

in the summer, i bound.  i move fast.  i have the energy of a chicken.  i laugh loudly.  if i didn't have to go inside, i wouldn't.  as soon as i get out of bed, i go outside.  and then i stay outside til time for bed.  i am free.  i feel bountiful and joyous.  literally joyous.  everything feels like finding a fantastic prize in the crackerjack box.  a new tomato to join the hundreds on the vine.  a baby rabbit eating my kale.  the stupid sharp toe pricking plants that grow to 6 feet in my yard even make my happy with their insane growth spurts.  i love hanging clothes on the line.  wearing shorts and t-shirts and going barefoot.  playing--yes, playing--in the sprinkler. 

in the summer, i feel like i can see shimmering molecules of the air bouncing off of each other.  gallivanting in the glory.  i feel light.  thrilled to be alive.  (not that i am not thrilled to be alive in the winter, but in the summer "thrilled" takes on it's real true meaning).  there is magic in the air.  mischief on the breeze.  glee in the grass.

this bliss of summer makes me realize how hard the winter was on me.  and then, it makes me forget that there were ever days of sludge and drudge.  i guess that's the circle of life.