Waddup widda rosemary, yo?

Is it Red Hook or is it the rosemary?

It is mid-January. This we know.

Two different rosemary plants, both in bloom. One in a community garden, above, one on a brownstone, stoop, below. Both in Red Hook. Which is actually chilly, because it's the near the water. When it's not under the water, of course. 

Yesterday was colder than it has been for a week, which was reassuring. I walked to Fort Defiance and met my botanist friend, Marielle, there for lunch. I had tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, which seemed about right. She told me of her family's plans to go to Vermont in February to show her two little boys snow. Her eldest is four and does not remember it.

Snowcation. The way forward.

I have been eyeing a cabin in the Catskills, after our friends BonBon and Quasar rented it and liked it. They went snowshoeing. I know. It's not going to happen. It could, though. It's complicated.

Perhaps I should check on my roof rosemary. Since "Bobby" arrived to patch our leaks - if his given name is really Bobby I'll eat the roof membrane; I think "Bobby" was simply what he decided his American audience could deal with - I have not been back up there. Scared, really. Bobby looked with incredulity at Raccoon House's roof, next door, and said, Pipple libs dear? Yes, I said, Pipple libs dear. He wasn't too complimentary about our roof, either. No one has offered to repair our water-damaged closet below. Tick, tick, tick. Maybe I wrote this book just in time.

Boom.

A bit fell off Raccoon house the other day...

But back to the rosemary. I suppose it thinks it's spring.