Midwinter thaw: Parsnips and people

Abstract

(Rrceiwd 10 Februor>, 1986) SOME~ME in late January or early February. after Lake Erie has frozen over and the lake effect snow squalls have stopped, there is a midwinter thaw in Western New York. A short break in the fierce cold and snowy weather that we anticipate as keenly as the arrival of the delights of winter: cardinals and evening grosbeaks. wood stove warm kitchen, seed catalogs, Dickensian Christmases. cross country skiing, and parsnips. Melting snow turns the horse paddock into a quagmire, the driveway into a temporary creek, and the 120-year-old fieldstone portion of the basement into a puddle. The grass over the septic tank and tile field pipes reappears as miraculously as do the unharvested turnips. parsnips, and cold resistant spinach: incongruous, refreshing gray-green against the leafless trees. snow, and gray sky. When the conditions are right dense ground fog, just like the moor mist in the old Sherlock Holmes Hound of the Baskervilles movie, settles in over fields still covered with snow. Of course it is only a matter of time before real winter returns, but for a few days we scurry about in shirts and down vests doing chores that have been put ofi transferring hay to the top of the horse barn, spreading the accumulated ashes from several cleanings of the fireplace and wood stove on the garden, hauling more logs to the bottom of the big barn to replace those that have been split and burnt. The softening squash and pumpkins are culled from the baskets of vegetables in the cold room and put out for the birds and field mice to eat. Fences are hastily patched with hopes that the repairs will last until spring. Loose straw and hay from the barns are raked up and spread over the exposed perennial beds to protect them against the frigid temperatures sure to come. Without a good sized layer of insulating snow the tender shoots of early spring flowering plants will be frost killed. Anticipating the appetite for fresh fruits and vegetables that accompanies the warming trends of spring yet to come, one of the dormant rhubarb plants is enveloped by a bottomless wooden keg filled with manure and straw. In March when the spring melt is in full Aood, this rhubarb plant, growing into the fertile warmth of its winter manure coat? will be undressed and the partially blanched stalks stewed and savored. A favorite chore of these rare midwinter thaw days is to dig parsnips. Now that the boys have grown up and away, the chores of the sheep and poultry have been relinquished. Jeremiah, the champion ram, is as vigorous as ever but he is tending to a larger flock of mixed Dorset sheep in an adjoining town. Without the reliability of youth the day to day animal work done by an increasingly busy and reluctant father began to suffer. So in the winter of 1985-1986, Susan and I savor the seed catalogs, our neighbor’s dozen