Yet another night of survival of the most frost-tolerant here. The courage to visit the peppers out back hasn't yet arrived for me. I did see that the side of the front not under the street tree had a bit of frost on it -- mostly it's the artichoke I'm concerned about out there (although if the aphids infesting it got hit, that would certainly make up for a bit of frost damage!).
I know that to those of you up to your knees or necks in snow and ice, my whining about the weather only confirms the worst stereotype of Californians, especially the crazy tree-hugging econuts in the bay area. As I told Eric when I'd wear a sweater at 80F in Arizona, it's not the absolute temperature that matters, it's the relative one. We're just not used to (nor are our flimsy Victorian houses made for) weather much under 40F. Neither are many of our plantings.
On my way back inside after the school run, I went to examine the neglected rasperries on the side -- their support wires need redoing to follow the slope of the yard. For now, they're just sprawling.
I found these two, with more behind!
They were so cold that they didn't taste until they'd warmed up in our mouths. It's really not the season for these, and they aren't "Fall Gold." In fact, I don't think those bore this year. I think they're just dual season red ones that fired a little late.
I don't know whether to apologize or revel. We may have crazy politicians; our houses may cost more than is reasonable (and be worth less than we owe on them); we may spend too much on good coffee and talk about local food enough to make people roll their eyes, but darnitall, I've got berries in December.
Now I'm going to huddle by the heat stove and drink tea.
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