We are all growing in some way, growing up or growing old.  Ideally we strive to grow some of our own sustenance in the form of summer harvests and autumn bounty.  All of this kind of growing takes care and attention at all times of the year.  In one of the infrequent clear air winter days I thought it would be sensible to pollute the garden with the smell of woodsmoke.  The prunings needed disposed of and they shed their potassium into the ash, ready to be folded back into the ground when I get a chance to dig it over.


The little man pokes the ground with sticks in a helpful manner as part of his gardening apprenticeship.

There is the possibility that our only remaining beehive may begin to grow in it’s workforce numbers.  They have been hibernating through the winter darkness and might feel the urge to start laying eggs again.  I worry about them after all the failed queen matings of the ‘summer’ and I made up some bakers fondant to help them if they are running low on stores.  On a few nights this month I have found myself listening in on them with a stethoscope to see if they are still tenacious amidst the frost.



cooking for bees

There is also  the growing pile of logs and pallets that needs to cut up and added to the wood pile.  I don’t have the right tools for the job, so today I popped out to the garage to build something in snatched stages of productivity.


Can you guess what it is?


It needs some teeth.


It’s a horse.


Then there is the real growing; the growing of us.  The little lady safely joined us here at the cottage.  She is a beautiful tiny soul.  As I write she is sound asleep beside me, quietly resting and storing up her energy, ready to cry all night and ensure the exhausted lovely Sharon and I get very little sleep.


Under the growing winter moon tonight we are all growing, not sleeping much, but we are all growing.