As I write, it is Tuesday — the day after Christmas. The weather is warm and foggy and lends itself to a lazy day.

All the preparations and anticipation of the season are over and I hate to say it but a letdown seems inevitable.

It’s too early to begin the perusing of seed catalogs or to start even the earliest of hardy seeds.

I actually did clear a path to my potting table in the greenhouse and am thinking of starting some pea shoots by next week.

I noticed Rusty at Ghost Island Farm has many flats of them started and some are bagged up for sale. We love them in our family. They are a handy substitute for lettuce at this time of year.

I have a resentment about the lettuce industry in our country. I hate the plastic containers in which it is packed. You may put them into the recycling bin but they will most likely end up in the ocean.

I would like to see a documentary about the true nature of recycling. Maybe not; it might just get me more irritated.

As I sit in my kitchen all cozy in front of the wood stove, I see the fruits of last summer’s garden. There are two half-bushels — one of potatoes and one of onions — a couple of still-firm pumpkins, a long braid of garlic and a big basket of sweet potatoes.

I’m not saying this for bragging rights but rather to express my profound gratitude,

For starters, living on the Vineyard for more than 50 years has worked for me. Even if I did not choose to grow my own eggs, meat and vegetables, there are plenty of local farms that supply all of those items.

I know the cost of local produce can be a bit higher at times but, honestly, I would rather save in other areas besides food.

Also, I appreciate how much time, effort and money goes into producing good food. I often joke but may be serious that every dozen eggs I get from my small flock probably cost me $50. I’m figuring in coop repair, organic food and replacement of hens who met their untimely demise thanks to marauding raccoons. I loathe the raccoons.

Now that we are past the winter solstice, the days will begin to lengthen almost imperceptibly at first. Plants and animals notice these small changes even if we do not. The hens gave me two extra eggs on Christmas Day.

By the time of my next column we will be in 2024. By then, I most likely will have broken all my New Year’s resolutions. Why I bother is beyond me.

The New York Times put out its annual Year in Pictures 2023 last Sunday. I must say it was extremely upsetting. Most of all the photos were from war zones in Ukraine and Gaza. There were also some of the hazardous conditions at the U.S. southern border and the jungle trips getting here.

I’m going to refrain from comment on those photos and express hope for our weary world in the coming year.