Bitter cold, in the teens at night, in the 20s in the daytime, barely inching into the 30s at high noon. Because it does not get above freezing, the remaining snow has solidified into a hard ice pack that requires crampons to walk on.
I can inch across the icy snow carefully and get to the steps, where I can crab walk down the edge, but then I'm stranded on a field of slippery undulating ice mounds on the patio. It's a heart-stopping process that I constantly fear will end unceremoniously.
And yet I must get to some things on the bench. I need pots to repot the growing seedlings. I needed containers to cover the vole traps I set out. Once I got to the bench I found the containers were all frozen fast together.
I was only able to unstick a few and used them to cover the baited snap traps set in the yard. The east side is snow free, but the work was cold (it was 26 degrees out, but sunny).
Finding a few little rocks to prop up the pot edges, and to weight the tops, was a challenge. The dry creek bed is completely under hard snow, and the few stones at the edges were iced in solidly. I got bits and pieces of rocks here and there, and made do, but it took a scavenger hunt to find any at all.
For all this, I doubt I will make a dent in the vole infestation. Pffft.
What is this thing? I stumbled around in the meadow where the sun is at least softening bits of snow. It's a giant haystack of grassy stuff, frozen solid. Somebody's home?
And what's this? Omg, it is a daffodil peeking up on the back hill where I planted 150 bulbs last fall. Really?
Be still, my heart.