January is over. Well, almost. Groundhog’s Day is on Saturday. That’s a nice, mystical day. I did a quick study online on the history of the day and was amused to find it was celebrated long before there was a groundhog with the cumbersome nomer of “Puxatawny Phil” attached to him. That comforts me: I rather resent that some east coast mammal can tell me whether or not I am going to have six more weeks of winter in the western portion of the USA.
We’re going to have around six more weeks of winter, regardless. March 20 marks the next equinox. You just can’t win.
I put my wildflower seeds in the freezer, to give them a good chill. I collected them in zones where a hard freeze is a certainty: it is not a certainty in zone 8, where I live. I’ll pull them out of the freezer and start them this weekend and next. Probably next: I have a couple baby showers to attend this weekend, one of which is in my own living room. That is, we will have a baby shower *if* Baby Zephan agrees to wait to be born. As of today, he was busy nestling his little head in position and Arwen was miserably uncomfortable. I don’t remember that feeling because neither one of my kids burrowed into position until just prior to birth and well into labor. It sounds as if Zephan is not going to do anything weird like Arwen (who wrapped up in her umbilical cord and couldn’t drop) or Levi (who was posterior until I was 9 cm and we turned him): he’s turned right and his little head is right where it needs to be.
Maybe he will be a Groundhog (or is it a Hedgehog? Sam is German and Arwen’s roots are vaguely German: Presley is a Germanic name derived from Pressler)? The Irish in me rebels. Oh, heck, the Scots in me rebels. How dare he give in to his German roots? Oh, heck, he could be born on Feb 2 and still appease the Scots & Irish: Imbolc. Kind of fascinating to see where my people come from, religiously and otherwise.
(Actually, he will be a Rat: the Chinese Astrological Sign for his year of birth is the Rat. His mom is a Rat.)
Not all of us are anticipating a baby or worrying about the length of winter. My co-gardener (the one I currently am angry with over his indiscriminate “pruning” of my tree peaonies) wishes winter would never end and that much more snow would fall. Murphy is of good strong German heritage. He’s hoping for more winter. He loves snow.
Yeah, he’s turning into a handsome puppy. He’s not as hairy as I thought he would be, but he’s got nice lines.
I haven’t told him that I planted some aroid bulbs, but I noticed he’s been digging where I planted other bulbs last autumn… Darn this dog! He thinks he is a Master Gardener. Or maybe he thinks he is invincible. Did I mention he chewed a wood glue stick the other day? Into tiny little pieces. I don’t think he ingested any.
He’s been loving the snow that we’ve had this past week. He will be disappointed if the groundhog sees his shadow. He’s a Pig, by the way. That explains everything.