I planted the beets according to instructions in September, refusing to let the cold dirt go to winter yet, and sure enough they grew, just like the paper packet said. I call my husband the Dirt Man because every spring he carefully turns over the hard ground, adding aged manure that we have to travel off-Cape for, sifting it through a screen, maybe adding some lime or compost, until it looks like finely ground coffee. I think you could grow kumquats in it, but I chose beets, radishes and kale, which elicits not even a small noise like Hmmm from the Dirt Man. Only now I wish I didn’t throw away the seed packet, because I can’t remember when the beets are ready. My friend Jane said she would’ve kept a Beet Diary, but we are very different in some ways and that’s one right there.
I walked out into the back yard early today to feed the birds and check the garden and saw the green grass coated in frost, giving it a slight turquoise hue. I bent down to the ground so I could look closely at it and marveled at each blade, that no man could so perfectly create something like frost, the morning dew turning to interlinking crystals with one northern breath before dawn.