The frozen earth

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist
 
The ground beneath my boots is as hard as rock. Halfway through our morning chores, the cold begins to seep through the soles of my boots and nip at my toes. Blades of grass crunch with each step, and I wonder how any life could survive beneath the frozen ground.

When we first moved to the creek valley, we poured cement piers to support our solar panels, and so we know that the frost line reaches to a depth of about three feet. I imagine the worms in our fields and gardens tunneling deeper as the surface ground cools. 

Worms will die if frozen. They know to go deep, below the frost line, where they lie still and become dormant, surrounded by the cool earth. Only when the ground warms, will they tunnel through the thawed earth, and make their way back to the surface. Perhaps the worms are wise. Maybe I should burrow deep under my blankets and lie still.

Then, what of the ants I often encounter in my summer garden? I know that the ants are busy during the warm weather. They forage for surface dwelling garden pests. They tunnel and aerate the soil, and they add to my garden's fertility with their waste, but come the winter freeze what do they do?

They too are wise. They enter a state of diapause. Yes, they slow down and pause all activity, clustering together around their queen. The queen lies still, not laying any eggs. She simply rests, surrounded by her workers. The ants do not eat or drink, but rather rely on their bodies’ stored carbohydrates, and proteins as they wait for the earth to warm. As for me, the resting part sounds fine, but I don’t believe that I could go without food. There is nothing quite like a simmering bowl of stew on a cold winter night.

One of my favorite wintertime things to do, is walk along the road, passing under the trees that line the valley road. I do worry about the trees. I imagine how they must shiver with their roots planted deep in the valley's frozen ground. Unlike the worms, the tree roots have no choice but to pass through the frozen earth, but like the ants, they can enter a state of dormancy. 

As the weather grows colder, the trees' life-giving sap retreats deep underground, gathering in the trees’ bottommost roots, well below the frost line. If the sap had not done so, and had frozen solid, it would have expanded and cracked the sapwood, and the trees would die. Perhaps, like the worms and the ants, the trees are wise. I also think that I am a bit like the trees. My winter roots are right here in the creek valley. I’m not going anywhere.

But what of the animals who live their entire lives beneath what is now the frozen ground? Consider the moles. Now that we live on the farm, mole holes and tunnels do not really bother us. We have no lawn to keep pristine and impress passersby. We have fields and gardens that are often rutted by runoff and tractor tires. Mole holes and tunnels are slight by comparison. 

Like the worms, ants, and trees, the moles are also wise. In the winter, they do not hibernate, but rather dig deeper into the ground below the frost line. There they continue to tunnel through the softer, unfrozen soil where they still search for food. No doubt they’re thrilled to encounter the dormant earthworms, just as I am thrilled to sup on my warm winter stew.

And, so it seems we are really all quite alike. Like the worms and ants, I tend to become more sedentary during the winter, though not quite dormant. I have no seeds to start, no garden to till, no hay to bale, or garden to harvest.

Like the trees, I let my life's blood slow as I conserve my energy waiting for warmer weather. I piddle about inside my woodshop making bowls, boxes, and wooden trucks to give as gifts. I string beads and paint gourds at my workbench, warmed by the ground floor wood stove.

Like the moles, I dig deeper, though I don’t dig into the earth. I dig down into my imagination and see what creations might flow from my fingertips. I am always surprised.

And so, we all make our way through these days of frozen earth, thankful for the opportunity to slow as we contentedly wait for the ground to thaw, though I might just put on an extra pair of warm socks before I step outside to do my winter chores.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.