Solviva Greenhouse
At 4 a.m. on the coldest night of the year 1984, I am awakened by the howling blizzard rattling my windows, ice crashing down the roof. I worry about the new greenhouse. Will it freeze tonight? Rather than lie there worrying, I jump into my warmest clothes and set out across 900 feet of pastures to where the greenhouse lies nestled in deep snowdrifts.
By the time I reach the greenhouse my breath has turned to ice on my muffler. I hastily shovel away the 5-foot snowdrift blocking the west entrance door, wrench the door open, and quickly close it behind me.
To my utter surprise, in here it’s like a balmy night in June. The thermometer reads 55 degrees (13 C). The Angora rabbits are quietly muffling about in their communal dens. I step into the greenhouse, moon and stars brilliant through the four layers of clear glazing. Here among the tall, lush tomato vines loaded with red sweet tomatoes the thermometer reads 45 degrees (7 C). I proceed toward the east end, scooping up deep comforting breaths of humid, mild air fragrant with nasturtium, thyme, sage, dill and living earth. At the far end I step in among the 100 chickens who acknowledge me with sleepy murmurs, cozy at 70 degrees (21 C) in their spacious quarters.
What a miracle! Outside it is below zero, much colder with the wind-chill factor, but inside the Solviva greenhouse it is warm enough to maintain a thriving garden, abundant with vegetables and flowers, chickens and rabbits. I go back to bed without worrying about the greenhouse freezing. And in all the 10 years since that night, I have never again worried about it.
