Puttering
Putting the Yard to Bed
There’s a particular smell to late fall in upstate New York, a mix of leaf-rot, chimney smoke, and that metallic hint that says snow isn’t here yet, but it’s definitely circling the block. The mornings are crisp enough to see your breath, the afternoons are brief, and the sun seems to be clocking out early without apology. Around House 173, that means one thing: time to tuck the outdoor things in for the long winter nap.
This weekend’s winter-prep roster featured two unlikely companions:
Cyd, our concrete gargoyle... with Linus (who we miss to this day) in the background.
and the newly planted Blue Arrow juniper out in the yard.
Both needed attention, but in very different ways.
Cyd and the Perils of a Northeastern Winter
Cyd has been with us long enough now to feel like part of the family; stoic, grimacing, loyal. But despite all that attitude, he’s still made of concrete. And concrete, for all its toughness, has one natural enemy around here:
freeze–thaw cycles.
Water seeps into tiny pores and micro-cracks.
Then it freezes.
When it freezes, it expands.
When it expands, it pushes the concrete apart from the inside.
Do that once... fine.
Do it hundreds of times between November and April, not fine at all.
Upstate winters test everything...stone, branches, and patience alike. - GB Shaw Jr.
That’s how spalling, flaking, cracking, and crumbling happen. So as much as burlap looks charming, Cyd gets something far less romantic but much more practical: a plastic wrap to shed moisture.
The leaves were brushed off from around his base, checked for chips (none this year), and he was wrapped up like a slightly lumpy holiday gift. A little twine to keep things from flapping, a gentle pat on his covered head, and our sentinel was ready to face whatever winter wants to throw his way.
Meanwhile, the Blue Arrow Gets the Burlap Treatment
The Blue Arrow Juniper, on the other hand, is alive, green, and more sensitive to windburn than water intrusion. Burlap is perfect for that - breathable, protective, and just rustic enough to look intentional rather than like we misplaced a potato sack.
We wrapped the burlap around the lower branches and trunk, left space for airflow, tied it neatly, and stepped back to admire how this slender little tree suddenly looked like it was wearing a smart winter coat.
It’s funny how wrapping a plant can make you feel like you’re tucking in a child. Maybe that’s just an upstate thing. Or a House173 thing.
Little Rituals, Big Comfort
Winter prep always sneaks up on me, but once we're in it, I remember why I love it: the muffled quiet of the yard, the satisfaction of doing something future-me will appreciate.
It’s ordinary, but it feels meaningful... the annual reminder that we live in a place where the seasons actually happen, and where taking care of things helps them last.
All Wrapped Up
By the time I finished, the light was thinning and the air had that “time to go inside” bite. Cyd stood there, plastic-wrapped and expressionless as always, ready for the freezes, thaws, and lake-effect tantrums ahead. The Blue Arrow swayed gently in its burlap coat, looking like a fashionable little evergreen burrito.
I hung the twine back in the shed, stomped the dirt off my boots, and headed in for a well-earned mug of something warm.
Winter can come now.
We’re ready... or at least, the gargoyle and the juniper are.
Hey, thanks for stopping by - see ya' next time!
