Weathering Winter
“Finally a writer has taken up Mark Twain's challenge and done something about the weather. Carl Klaus' journal of a single season makes a whole world of winter. The generosity of spirit and steadfast care of a true gardener lift every page. Reading this luminous meditation is a great way to make it through the feints and lunges of a tough bout of winter.”—Patricia Hampl, author of Virgin Time: In Search of the Contemplative Life
“Klaus' winter is green with life. Snow and words sparkle, and chilly days warm the heart. Like an icicle breaking light into red and blue and yellow, Klaus paints a glowing season. Here are juncos and black bean soup, white drifts of snow, and paragraphs that make the reader long for winter.”—Sam Pickering, author of The Blue Caterpillar
“Just because winter is upon us, don't feel that your green thumb need turn brown. Carl Klaus reminds gardeners that deep snowdrifts and frozen earth are as much a part of the growing year as any other.”—North American Gardener
In winter, when the only things growing seem to be icicles and irritability, what pleasures exist for a gardener or for anyone who lives in a northern climate? In his distinctive daybook, Weathering Winter, Carl Klaus reminds readers that the season of brown twigs and icy gales is just as much a part of the year as when tulips open, tomatoes thrive, and pumpkins color the brown earth. From the first cold snap of late December 1994 to the first outdoor planting of onion sets and radish seeds in mid-March 1995, Klaus kept track of snow falling, birds flocking, soups simmering, gardening catalogs arriving, buds swelling, and seed trays coming to life.
Gardeners, lovers of the out-of-doors, and weather watchers will recognize themselves in the ways in which Klaus has come to terms with the harsh climate and chilly truths that winter embodies. His constant, careful checks on the temperature and on the geraniums overwintering in the attic, his contentment in the basil- and garlic-flavored tomato sauce he cooked up from last season's crops, and his walks with his wife in the bitter chill of starry January nights reflect the pull between indoors and out, the contrast between the beauty and the cruelty of the season.