9:00 on Christmas Eve morning. The temperature keeps fluctuating between 30 and 31 degrees, and the sky is overcast with solid grey clouds. I am sitting by the woodstove, surrounded by two contented cats and a mournful looking Golden Retriever. These cold morning outdoor excursions never last quite long enough for energetic pup. He doesn�ft seem to understand that his heavy, golden coat can hold a lot more heat than my human skin.

We took a quick stroll out to the garden. The back forty is in full winter dress now, brown and spikey with only a few brave herbs showing any signs of green. Winter is the favorite season of theoretical farmers. We feel absolutely no pressure from the outside world to stop talking and get on with planting. Nobody except the hardcore, year-round gardener is out on bleak mid-winter mornings tilling the soil and planting seeds. The rest of the world joins our contemplative state and is somewhat content to muse over seed catalogues, planting charts and garden journals. For once, we theorists are among the inactive majority.?

The flurry of shopping, baking and wrapping is over for the season. Soon, a different buzz of activity will take over: delivering presents, greeting family and exchanging overflowing plates of sweets with the neighbors. Our little town savors its peaceful state while suffering alongside our northern neighbors as they mourn the irrational loss of a classroom full of children. And yet, we received our own alarms on the last day before break. Our own schoolhouse was watchfully guarded by a collection of uniformed officers. We all seem to hover on the edge of uncertainty while fervently praying for peace on earth.?

The house is quiet with only an occasional mournful sigh circling the air. The pup is not content to simply enjoy the fireside warmth. Perhaps someone with more energy than I will wake up soon and let the poor doggie run outside awhile. ?In the meantime, I will avoid his doleful countenance and move a little closer to the heat.

According to the gardening books, it�fs time to put the garden to sleep for the winter. Not that my little patch was completely awake during the growing season, but it did produce a few vegetables and a good many herbs.?

I like getting the garden ready for winter. Expectations are low; in fact, all that matters is that I pull the weeds and pile them on a compost heap. Preparing the soil to rest is like stripping old paint from an antique dresser. You simply can�ft hurt anything; it already looks as bad as it ever will.

The sage and mint are continuing to persevere amidst the relatively cold nights and chilly days of mid to late autumn. They will shine even more when I remove the dead, gangly stalks of brown plant material: they�fre a true tribute to the robustness of domesticated weeds.

Finding time to clear out the garden seems to be my biggest challenge. The sun dips behind the horizon shortly after 5 pm these days. By the time I close down the computer and push in the last chair in my classroom, the large lunar fireball is already dipping dangerously low in the sky. We do have a few holidays coming up in the next couple of days. Thanksgiving is near, and the Powers that Be have seen fit to give us three entire free days this year�cmore than we have ever had before. Perhaps I will spend the frantic hours of �gblack Friday�h puttering away in the back forty. Stacking weeds seems so much more restful than pushing through throngs of agitated bodies at the local mall. Such clamor and clutter messes with the minds of theoretical farmers---way too much reality for our philosophical brains to process.

Between now and Friday, perhaps I will do a bit more research on proper winter gardening for our neck of the woods. I still haven�ft given up on horseradish and carrots, although I suspect I should have planted them much earlier�c Whatever the case, I am looking forward to several uninterrupted hours in my garden. I�fve missed our time together.?

Late Autumn Mint

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Fall has come to the Shenandoah Valley in full force. We seem to have bypassed any type of Indian Summer and temperatures have settled in at around 45 degrees by day and down to 30 at night. Delicate plants such as basil and green peppers have turned black and limp from frost while the more hearty herbs like rosemary and thyme are still thriving. I think the Last Rose of Summer fell apart into brown-edged petals yesterday. It was still clinging bravely to the vine when I left to go grocery shopping. By the time I returned home, the wind had dislodged it and all that was left on the vine was the center of the flower, looking frail and rather pathetic in the watery su

I love the change of seasons, and it suits me just fine that summer chose to exit without lingering goodbyes. Still, I still feel the need to play in the dirt a bit. I�fm not quite ready to give up gardening yet. I talked to a seasoned farmer at church this morning and asked him if I could grow anything now. He was rather cryptic in his answer. �gYeah, there are lots of things you can grow now.�h I waited for him to continue but he had stopped talking and was obviously not going to enlighten me on the bounty of late fall growing. I prodded a bit further and asked if I could plant onions. �gNo,�h he said, shaking his head solemnly, �gyou don�ft want to plant onions now. They will freeze in the ground.�h What about carrots, I continued. �gNot so sure. Maybe.�h Such was the extent of my interview. Perhaps I shall just resort to Google.

Or more likely I will create a lush winter garden inside my head. After all, I am a theoretical farmer still and there is no pressure to? have anything to show for my intensive labors of the mind!

Hurricane Sandy is rattling the shutters and trying her best to come inside. I am trying just as hard to keep her out. Right now, our little brick ranch holds six adults, three cats, one parakeet and a quite large Golden Retriever. There is simply no space for an uninvited storm to lounge about.?

They call her a �gFrankenstorm,�h and so far, just the mention of her name has shut down schools, closed businesses and caused general panic in bread aisle at the grocery stores. I am hearing reports of flooded basements, downed trees and power outages. So far, we haven�ft had any damage, but I�fm not sure I like the way the sound of the wind has changed from a casual whistle to a haunting howl.

The Derecho storm in June knocked out seven trees in the back forty. Sandy seems to be taking a different path with winds spiraling from the Northeast. The Mulberry tree will probably take the brunt of the damage this time around. Poor tree. Part of the trunk looks unwell anyway and it bore very little fruit this summer. Guess I�fll need to do some research into tree health---assuming it�fs still standing in the morning.

Another thing I would like to research is the way moisture in the air interacts with light and cameras. I took a picture of a path-lamp at the park last evening, just before the storm began. Take a look at the contrast of shadow and light. I have never taken a photo like this before; it almost looks as though I touched it up on a photo editor. But it�fs the original shot---straight from my cheap little camera.

So many fascinating subjects to explore! Again, I am thankful to be a theoretical farmer. Living in the world of theory allows such flexibility and variety in research. And the best part is the fact that it really doesn�ft matter if I find any answers or if I just continue to ask questions. Both states of knowledge are equally rewarding.?

I�fm not sure where summer went, but I think I passed it somewhere going South on Interstate 81. It seemed in quite a rush, dragging a wagon full of old beach towels, stretched bathing suits and picnic baskets. I have spent the past six months on the outside looking in. Working furiously to finish up a graduate degree has afforded me little opportunity to be part of nature and her diversions. Lately, I have observed several seasons as they passed by, but was never able to be part of the menagerie of attractions they offered.

Needless to say, my garden has grown up in a happy mixture of weeds and herbs?the only kinds of living, green plants that can survive without some sort of nurturing. I had good intentions: I dug up the patch, spread a couple of bales of straw and planted some seeds. I even put fertilizer on the whole lot. But then, classes started and while my tender young plants needed to be cultivated and cherished, I was deep in academic periodicals and university databases.

Now, I am a �gtheoretical farmer�h by self-definition, but not a scholar at heart. While I like to surmise about the inner workings of people, animals and plants (if indeed plants have inner workings), I am not enamored with reading stilted language and analyzing academic minutia. I am happy to say that I am on my final project, and soon, this scholastic plodding will be history. I am looking forward to sifting through the stalks of dried weeds in my garden patch. I�fm hoping to find enough herbs to cut and harvest before a killing frost makes its appearance. At least I will be able to gather something this year, even if the bounty of my crop consists of a few hearty sage leaves and a half-bucket of thyme!

The back forty looks like a disaster area. We had quite a storm move through the Valley Friday evening. The weather-folk call it a Derecho: an unusually strong storm that, fortunately, doesn�ft grace us with its presence too often. Derecho means �gstraight�h (or �gright�h) in Spanish, and it definitely lived up to its name: the gust blew in a precise beeline, pushing over anything in its path. Unfortunately, we had about seven trees standing directly along the route the wind decided to take.

We spent most of Saturday morning pushing against the 90+ degree heat, trying to move the limbs and branches from neighbors�f yards. We still have multiple piles of debris that still need to be cleaned up, but all in all, we fared well. Many of our friends lost electrical power and had to deal with thawing freezers, no air conditioning (or fans!) and dwindling water supplies. There was a run on ice and water; most of our local stores ran out of these staples long before many folks were able to stock up.

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The area gardens seem to be resilient, though. Saturday, the cornfields looked rather pathetic with all of their towering stalks lying horizontally across the field. By Sunday afternoon, however, most of the corn had straightened and looked no worse for the wear.? My broccoli plants (already suffering from the direct attention of some little green worms) are still leaning a bit to the East. Hopefully they will survive nature�fs onslaughts.

But enough musing for this morning. The weeds are having a heyday in my tomato patch, and such foolishness must be stopped! Even theoretical farmers get their hands dirty once in awhile.

I have decided that there is nothing like a dish of fresh peas to make a spring day perfect! Yesterday afternoon around lunchtime, I went to the garden hoping to rescue a few final pods before I pulled up the vines to plant the jalape?os. This spring has been unseasonably warm in the Shenandoah Valley, and the peas have not been happy at all with temperatures hovering around 90 degrees. To my surprise, there were still quite a few chubby shells hanging bravely on the wilted pea plants. Enough pods to fill a little bowl with springtime goodness!

I found a perfect recipe for fresh peas: Bring a small amount of water to boil, add shelled peas, return to a boil and heat for about 10 seconds. This creates a sweet, firm texture and the peas literally pop in your mouth!

In other gardening news, I think I harvested the elephant garlic too soon. At least that�fs what Edna tells me. But there were flowers forming on top of the plants, so I thought it was time to dig up the bulbs. The garlic seems to be fine, although I will admit the bulbs? would probably have gotten bigger had I heeded my neighbor�fs advice (not that I�fd ever tell her that!).? Nevertheless, I now have a garage full of fragrant garlic braids, drying in the steaming heat of this too-early summer.?

The rabbits are eyeing my newly planted broccoli plants. I reminded them that I didn�ft mind sharing as long as I didn�ft know I was sharing! I hope they understood the gravity in my voice. We negotiated quite well with the spinach, I can only assume we will divide the broccoli crop equally well.

Seven more days in the Schoolhouse, and then I will be a full time Theoretical Farmer. I am certainly looking forward to changing hats.