That’s what it’s like outside in Brooklyn today.
I thankfully remembered a couple of weeks ago to bring the composting worms inside, along with the few survivors of the fire escape garden (though one tomato plant out there is still clinging to the last of its miraculously green leaves):
What’s this? What’s the tiny speck hanging off the middle plant?
Could it be? It is.
The little alpine strawberry plants we got from the Brooklyn Botanic Garden last spring are the toughest little guys I’ve ever tried to grow on purpose. Matt and I have both killed one or two each through neglect, and while only one of his came back from the dead only to be met with further neglect that it couldn’t live through a second time, my formerly-dead plant seems to be rallying nicely, and her sister is bearing a sizeable fruit on this, the eleventh day of December.