'Tis the SEASON???

There has been much meteorological head scratching goin' on in THIS neighborhood!! A few days ago we broke high temperature records here in New York State, tomorrow we're bracing for a bit of SNOW. What's this world coming to? (or, for that matter, where is it going!)

My understanding is that SOME plants respond to day length and SOME plants respond to temperature. I'm sure that SOME plants are scratching their little horticultural heads and trying to balance the two. Can you imagine the 'conversations' going on below ground?

"But I HAVE been asleep, and the humans are in T-shirts, so it MUST be time to plump the buds!"

Hush, children, go back to sleep.....The world is a trifle scrambled right now.

Every year I worry a few friends by NOT running off to a doctor for antibiotics at the first sign of an *IFI*. Yes indeed, we have a NEW category of plague, the Influenza Like Illness. I've had any number of years where I didn't even go down to the common cold, much less anything resembling the FLU. But this year, we add another worry - Anthrax. So as I began to feel that I had a large, scaley, beanbag dragon IN my lungs, my resting and relaxing was plagued by wonderings as to whether I should run off to a clinic for an Anthrax test. Hard call. Don't want to panic, but don't want to take a life-threatening chance. I don't need this kind of stress.

I do believe I'll live. I gather my friends around me, my Echinacea, GrapeFruit Seed tablets, Mega C, Lemon Balm, Mullein leaf, and the star of the crowd, Cayenne tincture. SPLENDID stuff. Five to fifteen drops of Cayenne tincture in my morning coffee and my lungs KNOW they're awake!

But all potions aside, it still comes down to those two magic ingredients if one wants to recover from the Plagues of Winter...Sleep and Soup. And let's get plenty of garlic into that soup.

And while I listen to the soup muttering on the stove and look out my kitchen window, I see the Motherwort at the woods' edge still defiantly green (she MUST be getting tired), and a splendid, silver, fuzzy cabbage of a Mullein (who hitched a ride into the garden in a pot of Agastache) patiently looking up at the sky waiting for the snow to fall.

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