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As the weather cools, my world closes in.

I begin the hibernation process as soon as the first frost wipes out the tender perennials. By the time the hard freezes have arrived I am a virtual stranger to my garden, only venturing out on the sunniest of days when the air is still. Only gourds lounge on the benches in the garden.

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I walk the familiar paths between rows, marveling at the persistence of purple deadnettle, chickweed and hairy bittercress, weeds every one, but I welcome their bright green leaves among the brown.

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I resent the tenseness of my muscles in response to the cold, and find myself on tiptoe, mincing across the frosted ground as if walking on thin ice. It’s days before the winter solstice, and I’ve already begun to daydream of spring.

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I heard a brief conversation of birds this morning, very early, and something about their song momentarily transported me to the honeyed days of April when the warm air is new and welcome. I could almost smell it for one second, and then immediately all I could smell was winter; not the fresh-cut pine, hint-of-woodsmoke smell of winter, but the hard, gray smell of wet street and ice-rimmed puddles.

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The chickens’ water is frozen hard every morning and the hens wait impatiently for their morning treats and for me to break the ice in their pans. Expert tip: When using the end of a rake handle to break ice, hold the business end of the rake away from you so you don’t hit yourself on the back of the head.

I have a bad attitude toward the cold. Most of my hardship is a result of a negative mindset, not anything objectively insupportable about the temperature or the season. People in northern latitudes have it much worse than I do, and people have learned to live and thrive in the cold.

There are many cold, gray weeks ahead. How do you make it through the winter?