Call me an oddball if you wish, but I simply love a rainy day. I’ve said countless times. . . there is no bad weather, only inappropriate clothing!

I have a nice set of rain gear — pants and jacket by the Guy Cotton company. SBS has them. They are heavy duty but yet workable.

I spent some time shoveling a huge pile of wood chips on Tuesday in the pouring rain. I was happily and thoroughly drenched. The rest of the day was spent making soup and bread. It hardly gets better than this.

Two people shared some interesting garden news with me. Both stories are the same puzzling subject.

My BFF, Sharlee Livingston, picked a few stalks of celery a while ago. She left them in a jar of water on the counter. Occasionally, she snipped a few leaves for soups and salads. After some benign neglect, it rooted. How peculiar is that? We wonder if she should pot it up and see what happens over the winter.

Equally odd, I took an arrangement of red-orange celosia to the Martha’s Vineyard Public Charter School in September. A few tiny pieces of the large flowers came loose. Teacher Pam Caseau took a few for tiny glass bottles on her window sill. They continued looking great as she frequently changed the water. They, too rooted.

It made us wonder if cut flowers could often root. They look like tiny flames with long white roots. Isn’t nature grand?

For the past week I’ve had a tremendous amount of winter moths fluttering around the property. This will end badly. Let me refresh your collective memories. A few years ago we had a big outbreak. They turn into disgusting caterpillars, which eat trees like there’s no tomorrow. Plus, they leave droppings all over cars and lawn furniture. Hope I’m wrong and not some prophet of doom.

I resorted to a fly swatter on my outside door. I must have killed over a hundred of the pests. I comforted myself thinking of all the leaves I was saving. I bet each moth lays dozens of eggs. My friend Phyllis was also swatting and squishing at her house. We reported our progress as we went along. We agreed that we were nut cases!

I have a few more pickings of beets and radishes and enough carrots to last the winter.

I drove past Morning Glory Farm recently. They were covering some crops with straw. I’m assuming it was carrots as they winter-over nicely under a blanket of straw, or even bales of hay. The bale can be flipped over on a sub-zero day to give access to sweetened-by-the-cold carrots. Even in the spring they are still edible and delicious.

In just a few weeks the winter solstice will occur and the days will start getting longer. The chickens will notice and pick up their egg production. Cold-hearty greens can be seeded in an unheated greenhouse. It will take some time, but I promise, they will germinate. You’ll be eating tiny salads by Lent! Nature doesn’t care about the cold but responds to light. By the first week of February there will again be 10 hours of daylight.

On Sunday last, Violet and I were privileged to hear the Island Community Chorus at the Whaling Church — a beautiful setting for lovely entertainment. Peter Boak certainly loves his subject and shares it freely.

The only drawback was sitting behind someone who had to hold a cell phone up and take a video. Why? I’m always fascinated by people who need to record every event. I like to simply be there.

It’s amazing to watch folks meeting President Obama with their devices between him and them. Believe me, there are pelnty of photographs of him and they probably will never get the face-to-face opportunity again.

What a great spot to jump into a segue. The cell phone video of the killing of Staten Island resident Eric Garner was so disturbing. He sure did not look threatening to me. It’s interesting that politicians are suggesting body cameras for police officers. I wonder if a grand jury would believe one of those?

I cannot help but wonder how the armed men supporting Montana rancher Cliven Bundy didn’t get shot and they actually had assault rifles aimed at federal officers.

We’re pretty big on second amendment rights for rural white folks.

Here we are once again . . . going to you-know-where in a handbasket.