There was the first hard frost a few days ago. It was the first hard frost in several years. Ethan turned on a sprinkler in the corner of one of the pastures to make beautiful icicles during the night.
The children woke up early the next morning, eager to see the result. They were not disappointed – a fabulous ice sculpture awaited them. The rye grass was coated in a thick layer of ice that made it look like weird green worms erupting from the ground. A beauty berry bush was transformed into an ice castle, and a perfect row of icicles hung along the electric fence wire.
Here in Florida, this is usually the closest we get to snow. Clothilde did not believed us about the cold, refused bundling, and ended up in tears and had to be carried inside and wrapped in a blanket to warm up after ten minutes. Rose and I lingered to find the delicate tracings the frost had left elsewhere. The rye cover crop in the garden was laced with delicate edging, and the herb beds looked crystalline.
By the afternoon, all the ice and frost had melted in the sun. A few days later, we were back to being barefoot outside again.