Freezing Polar Vortex Can’t Sing Summer’s Hallelujah
By John Kass
Wednesday February 19, 2025
It’s so cold now in Chicago that the brass monkeys have gone bald in the sensitive parts.
Now they’re outside stupidly shivering, without the sense God gave a fly to come inside and sit by the fire and listen to a story. About the summer and being warm again.
Would you like that kind of story?
I certainly would. As a matter of fact I’ll write it myself. Not all of us can get away for the winter. Betty and I can’t get away. And not all of us can go to Marco Island or Hawaii. Besides, who wants to read a Jack London story about freezing the brass monkeys off when we’re freezing to death? I’ll take a hot buttered rum. Let’s light the fire.
You need a story to make you warm.
Not just about coolish ice-out early spring, not the raw springtime of Holy Week, that season of light overcoats and the first time you held that girl’s hand walking after church so many years ago. Not just warmish enough to play soccer and baseball, but the hot summers of late June and July and August, so hot that the first things your eyes look for is shade.
Summers where the black Midwestern dirt is hot to your bare feet in your own backyard. You know that black dirt. You put it there. You spend hours, days, weeks and months working mushroom compost in there, and throwing out any rocks and clay. It’s soft, loamy now. Welcoming to the foot. Ready to sprout life.
Summer is the sun, and the sweat on your upper lip, on the inside of your hat band, on your lower back under a cotton shirt, clinging there as you tend the vines. There is nothing like the bitter, musky smell of tomato vines that comes from the tiny hairs on the vine and the delicate leaves you may have brushed against.
It smells like the summer that you can barely remember now. With that freeze out there driving summer out of your memory.
Think of the buzz of a June bug in the afternoon. The sound of a screen door slamming. The flick of a robin’s wing as you pull the hose to the garden edge waiting at the fence. That robin knows you. She’s a friend. She’s counting on you. She has a nest nearby.
The sound of water from the hose bubbling into the earth. You never spray the leaves. People who spray the leaves don’t know about gardening. They mean well, but they just don’t know.
You don’t want disease to set in. Just at the roots. Keeping moisture away from the leaves is why some of us use black landscape fabric. The sun hits the fabric and warms the earth. The sun also bounces off the fabric to hit the underside of the leaves to keep them healthy. And if you take time and plan well, water will gather around the base of the vines and then disappear into the ground. I’m looking at an old photo I took of my old garden and of my friend Zeus the Wonder Dog.
I miss you Zeus. You kept the rabbits at bay.
If you’re out in your garden, watering, that’s when you might just hear a red-winged blackbird, if you’re lucky. And a kid on a lawnmower, a yard or two over. The pause of a squeaky wheel of a baby carriage on the sidewalk, a mom stopping to admire your red knockout roses along the black wrought iron fence. The sound of kids playing. That’s a neighborhood. Without children, it’s just a place to sleep. But children are life and bring life with them wherever they go.
In a few weeks at the good nurseries and green houses, it will be time for them to do the seedling.
In early March a few years ago, it was still raw and cold but I got there on opening day of garden season. A special day of magic: the seeding.
At Vern Goers Greenhouse in Hinsdale, Sandy Buboltz was busy tapping a packet of tiny tomato seeds out into a little aluminum box, tossed these with a handful of fine white sand and began sprinkling it all evenly over small containers of potting mixture.
“When you start tomatoes, you don’t want the seeds clumping up in one place, and the sand helps you control what you’re doing,” Buboltz said.
“And as I’m doing this, I roll each seed off my thumb. If you don’t, you squish the seeds and it all ends up in one blob. So, I go like this, then I go around like this, then do one more time like this, and then do that.”
What warms me are thinking of the names of the tomato varieties, of Box Car Willie, Brandywine Red, Red Zebra and Rutgers, the Romas, the San Marzano, Celebrities and Champion, Chocolate Cherry and Thessaloniki; Better Boys and Early Girls and on and on. The Jet Star. And Abraham Lincoln. The Sweet Cherry 100s. Lemon Boy.
We’ll drive back to Vern Goers this year if they’re still around. I hope so.
Their Thessaloniki tomatoes were just superb. Huge and dense and meaty and perfect for TLB sandwiches, the perfect sandwich on sourdough toast with mayo, and pepper. Goers took good care of their stock. Not like the giant big box hardware places that might water at uneven times. They gave each plant a good watering. You could tell when you’d plant them.
Gardening is an art, yes, but precision is necessary.
Walking past the rows at a greenhouse, you say the names of tomato varieties out loud to yourself. It is like a liturgy. All you need is incense burning.
Even now, so cold, you might remember how it feels walking in your garden barefoot in August, warm dirt between your toes, a cold can of beer in your hand, White Sox baseball on the radio.
The late great Ed Farmer is gone now, so he can’t tell us about his superb curveball at St. Rita. And the Sox unfortunately retired Hawk Harrelson from the television broadcasts, but every year in baseball, like a garden, hope springs eternal.
Our backyard is fenced in, and our vegetable garden is hemmed by granite pavers. In the center of our yard there is a great, perfect tulip tree. It’s so perfect and straight it is one reason I bought the house.
I spit three times to ward off the mati, the evil eye, in case others praise it and the devil wants to hurt it. I spit three times.
Betty loves that tree. So do I.
And under the branches, where the robins build their nest, I’ve put two dark green Adirondack chairs. We sit there and look at the garden.
After the watering and weeding, I might put on some Music of the Baroque, or perhaps Leonard Cohen’s great 1984 song “Hallelujah”.
This cover version made it famous by Jeff Buckley. I think of Cohen writing it on a Greek Island in the summer over the years he worked on it, wrestling with Hallelujah the way all writers struggle with the gods over their songs.
The buzz of the June bugs. A wandering honeybee at the blossoming cucumber vines. The heat of the earth. A woodpecker in the mornings. A blue Jay in the late afternoons.
Betty passing out slices of watermelon, but I’m too old to chase fireflies in the backyard. Still, the Kass boys and their amazing lovely girlfriends will be making Smores at the fire-pit, and my wife and I will look at each other knowingly, so eager for grandchildren. We smile. That’s summer. And I don’t want to go anywhere else.
Warm summer. Home. The beautiful garden And family together.
Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth
The minor falls, the major lifts
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
(Copyright John Kass 2025)
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About the author: John Kass spent decades as a political writer and news columnist in Chicago working at a major metropolitan newspaper. He is co-host of The Chicago Way podcast. And he just loves his “No Chumbolone” hat, because johnkassnews.com is a “No Chumbolone” Zone where you can always get a cup of common sense.
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Comments 42
Hey John, thanks for your vision of what is ahead in the coming months to lift us out of the winter doldrums. I am what you would call an old man now who wakes up in the wee hours, “my kingdom for eight straight hours of sleep.” But I am fortunate, I wake up in a nice warm bed and all is good for health is wealth. At night before sleep I get down on my knees and thank Him for the day’s blessings, and when I get up in the morning I get down on my knees and Ask Him for help in the upcoming day. Hallelujah.
Ditto to everything Mr Jennings has asserted.
Praying, 8 hours of sleep, praying.
Hallelujah.
I’m right along with you praying…Hallelujah!!
God bless tomatoes and thanks to Our Lord Jesus Christ—he of infinite power, wisdom and mercy—for all our gifts.
This is classic Kass. Ode to the tomato garden. You inspired me to plant tomatoes again.
Thanks John. Not every piece needs to be about corrupt pols and dire circumstances. This was good. I enjoyed the finish.
I love winter, just not the bitter cold. But that’s part of the deal. In our warmer months I get outside more. But indoors or out, no matter the season, every day is a gift.
God bless us all please.
Loved the nostalgia of the beauty and warmth to come – and the politicians can’t take that away from us.
God bless you, Joh Kass and thank you. Like Jennings, I wake up, content and cozy, in the wee hours. Those mornings, and this is one, when your words await us, are special. You select and arrange a few hundred words into a warm quilt of memory and hope and smiles. Tomatoes and warm black earth, bare feet and fire and sons and robins in a tulip tree; toasty poetry on a cold dark dawn. It’s 17º in Texas and feels like -5º they say. I can’t grow tomatoes down here. Zeus has, no doubt, met Duke up there in dog heaven. Thanks to your Wednesday words I smile at the lingering love of life’s long ago and our brand new day. Thank you, brother. Hansen
I was looking out of the window on Sunday afternoon and the entire landscape was different shades of grey. Just like a dismal black and white photograph. Thank you my friend for adding technicolor and music to my photograph this morning.
Thank you for this. I was just looking out of my office window at home yesterday at the 6” of snow in the yard, the bone chilling cold outside, and wishing for summer. As I get older, I can’t tolerate the cold very well, the snow is acceptable but not wanted, but that cold is worse each year.
P.S. This type of article is how you write best; I know that your thrust of writing has to be politics, but this type of writing of yours is what I most look forward to from you, Mr Kass.
Blessings to you and the family…
-Deacon John
Thank you for the warm recollections of summer. The summers of our youth – not a care in the world – playing, running – neighborhood full of children with their innocence. Blessed indeed. The gardens and the senses awakened with rain, the earth coming alive. The aroma of a freshly cut lawn. My grandmother’s roses. She called them tea roses as they had scent of tea. I miss all of these times. Your word pictures help me to recall them. God bless you John and Betty.
A hot cup of coffee and John Kass to remind me in the most vivid words summer is coming and so worth waiting for. You made my day!
Your beautiful words brought me back to many memories and appreciation for so many blessings throughout my life. May God continue to bless you and your beautiful family.
Perfect timing. A great thing to look forward to. The non stop negativity in the media is worse than a few cold days! What a beautiful Dog and picture. Peace everyone.
That was poetry. Nicely done.
Such a tonic of a cold winters morning.
We all are yearning for summers return.
You’re killing me man. Visiting Fort Worth inside a cold Starbucks. The above warm thoughts are a big help. Thank you,
So enjoyed this and just so you know, I loved Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah!!
It’s colder than a mother-in-law’s kiss!
Another beautiful one John to brighten one’s day. Thank You.
I don’t miss the Chicago days, the 6 months of winter. Down here in coastal South Carolina we’ve had the herbs growing for weeks. The basil, cilantro, rosemary and parsley. The flowers are starting to bloom, with some beautiful big carmellias climbing the trellis on the deck. Sure, it gets hot here, but I’ll trade 2 months of heat for six months of winter any day.
I would trade too, I’m getting too old for this.
Enjoy yourself, but good luck getting great tasting tomatoes like John is talking about there!
Wow! Drinking coffee from my John Kass News cup, this was a great column. And I know that all your loyal readers also miss Zeus the Wonder Dog- he’s watching out for you and since all dogs go to heaven you two will be reunited some day.
Beautiful description of nature in summer. But I do love the 4 seasons. Couldn’t live the monotony of a 1 season place.
BTW next time play Beethovens ‘Pastoral’ symphony conducted by Fritz Reiner with the Chicago Symphony. The 2nd movement, ‘By the Brook’, will melt ones heart. Reiner and Chicago owns this work, no other performance comes close to describing nature in music.
Thanks John! Beautiful words to spark our memories! Your polar vortex is making a brief visit to Florida tomorrow and Friday for a 2nd round (had 5 days of it in January). Will get down into low 40’s. Don’t miss that awful cold up there – fifty years of it!
Will gladly embrace our heat this July instead! Growing veggies right now!
Beautiful John.
That was beautiful, John. I wasn’t just reading words, I was watching a wonderful movie of summer and renewed joy of life. Hallelujah
Mr Kass, thank you! I got up & out to go to work at 5:30 AM, as usual, in 16′ cold and flurries this dreary AM. Now you’ve got me thinking about my garden [in about 2 months]. Baseball, fishing, gardening, and life begins again soon!
When I moved from Chicago to Las Vegas, one thing I thought I would get is great vegetables since California was so close. I was disappointed at the quality of the tomatoes when I went to the grocery store. They were no different than the cardboard tomatoes you buy at any grocery store. When I went to the one farmer’s mkt by my new home I laughed at the produce. It was terrible.
We will try to grow some cherry tomatoes here in the desert. But, I miss those big beefsteaks so soft and juicy.
I escaped Hellhole Illinois six years ago. The weather and the politics of Illinois helped me with the move. Yesterday it was in the low sixties here in Houston. We were walking our puppies when we found a rabbit who had been killed by a predator, probably a coyote during the night. A little furthur we heard a bird loudly chirping in a tree. Very loud. It was not a predator bird since we have hawks and eagles in the area. It was alarmed. We found the mothers kits laying on the sidewalk. The bird was letting us know that the babies were in distress. We’ve seen these birds chase predator birds away from their nests. The mother was probably in the process of moving them somewhere safe when the coyote caught her. She led the predator away from her kits. One was dead from the cold pavement, the other was barely alive. We now have the kit safely in a shoebox home until the spring when we’ll let it go in the local forest preserve. I know Zeus would be mortified and I never thought we would be running an animal sanctuary. Funny where life drops you off…
Yianni,
What a delightful way to take our minds off this subzero weather! I can almost smell the tomato plants as they bask in the sun! My Mom was a great gardener. We had a side lot, 50×150 ft adjacent to our 2 flat, and she planted every imaginable vegetable from one end to the other. My sisters and I begrudgingly planted right beside her, and were elated to reap the benefits when everything was ready to be picked….and devoured! The aroma of that moist earth comes right back to me. Thanks for triggering those memories on such a cold day! Stay warm….have happy thoughts – spring is “right around the corner!”
Thank you John. What a perfect painting of a tomato garden. I miss my vegetable garden more than anything else that I left behind when I moved into an HOA.
The thrill of anticipation when starting my own seedlings, hardening off in a cold frame, planting in the garden and watching a beautiful crop of Marglobe tomato plants grow and produce fruit; what a joy.
You brought it all back to life for me.
That photo at the end….of your BLT….made my mouth water.
We really do eat with our eyes, don’t we?
Lovely article, John. Many thanks and stay happy, well, prosperous and warm. I hate to tell you this, but full disclosure: I’m reading your article while we’re renting on Marco Island for February. Best, JLH
Thanks for a wonderfully delicious blog & you now made me hungry for personal garden grown tomato’s (or Tomatoe’s via Dan Quail), thick Canadian Becon (20% tariff charge) & Fresh Lettuce from Mexico (20% tariff charge)
Such great writing! I could smell the soil and the tomatoes just from your words. And I agree with Vern Goers. A little more expensive but worth it for the quality
John,
What a wonderful looking Zeus, the Wonder Dog. I miss my Brittany Spaniels – I had three of them over my bird hunting career. Now, I am too old and not agreeable of cold weather at my advanced age of 79 years. My wife and I now enjoy a miniature poodle that is a loveable lap dog. All is good.
I have been a subscriber since the beginning – first time leaving a post. I was a subscriber to the “paper” until you left. Never renewed my subscription and have followed you since. Please keep up your insightful writing.
My best to you and your family – health and happiness my friend
Tom Calpin
A lovely essay John, as what I look forward to what may be my last Spring. Thank you.
John, what a wonderful weaving of words to describe a beautiful Midwest Summer. However, my red wing blackbirds in Countryside didn’t just sit idly by while I tended to my garden…they viciously dive-bombed me every day!
John, thank you, just thank you
I feel your pain. And I appreciate your anticipation.
Fifteen years ago I moved from the Chicagoland suburbs to San Diego. During my last winter in Illinois, three severe slips and falls on the ice banged me up at age 55. I flew west on a one-way.
Certainly, our politicians here in California are as dishonest and decrepit as any in Illinois. But we never have to shovel anything. I enjoy gardening wearing shorts and flip-flops in January and February.
“San Diego…Where summer comes to spend its winters.”