In October when it snowed here, I complained. The frost killed my tomato plants, roughed up my impatiens and forced the end of my growing season.
This morning when I peered out my window and noticed that Jack Frost had visited, I couldn't have been happier. It is November. It is supposed to be crisp and cold and sometimes even snowy. I dropped to my knees with my camera this morning to inspect every tiny crystalline fleck I could see, creeping around in the garden shooting pictures while the curious folks driving by must have wondered what exactly I was doing at 7:30 in my garden when the temperature read 35 degrees.