First frost

Last night after dark, I covered my little city garden with Henry and Emma Whiteside's old gold bed sheets. The 1970s polyester-cotton draped over fat rows of Thai and habanero peppers, sage, thyme, oregano, and a small forest of basil in the moonlight. Rabbits hopped. I saw our old dog's breath as she walked around the edge of the backyard fence, sniffing for squirrels and every other interesting thing.

Out in Pine County, Minnesota, and Pepin County, Wisconsin, our families' measure of readiness for winter is still how much wood they've put up. This is a part of the world that used to be forest, where trees still come back if a field goes untilled. Naturally fallen trees make enough wood to fill the fireplaces all winter, supplemented by propane and electric heat.

The gold bed sheets were wet in the early-morning sun. Underneath, everything was safe. A grocery bag of ripe tomatoes from Wisconsin, picked last night, arrived on the porch this afternoon. Time for more salsa.