Moan Dog

The Swedes call this day Måndag, the start of the work week. That sounded right this morning, it being February, the month that begins with a clever rodent who then departs willingly into the gaping jaws of the March lion. The groundhog prudently decides to stay in if it's sunny, which suggests air imported from the arctic, and we are still susceptible to such incursions. If the creature wants to have it both ways, sunny and warm, he should make like humans and install windows. Groundhog, moan dog, sleeping soundly as a log, deep dark underground.

I have noticed this winter that working in our basement has a salubrious effect on our family fortunes. I know little about feng-shui, but I ran into an old friend at Menards recently who told me that the ancient Chinese art of geomancy favors a tidy cellar. I was at the store gathering pine to panel the walls and convert a broad reach of basement into a rumpus room for the boys, who will continue to spend large parts of their winters indoors despite my late January clucking. Strangely, each step in that project seems to be rewarded with a bolt of luck, and today was no exception, but I won't risk a jinx on this streak by explaining too much.

One big benefit of our basement warren is a tall south-facing egress window, which invites enough light by late February that I am encouraged to start up the tomatoes. This is a short month that takes us a long way to the start of spring. My dreams about gardening take flight and I begin crave the feeling of fingers in the dirt, the smell of humus, the first thawing dog turds of the mild season. Just beware: the Qi masters caution that if wind chimes are placed improperly they can actually cause problems.

© 2006 Michael Nordskog