Reflections in the Snow

I just went out to call the dog in, and the sky is breathtaking!  I wish I was a good enough photographer to capture it all.  It's around ten below zero, and the air is sharp and clear.  Standing on my porch I see the moon peering down from a velvet blue sky, glinting on the icicles and lighting the yard with a soft, sliver light.  The stars are so clear and so close, and somehow their twinkling seems joyous.  Off to my right my American flag stirs just a bit in a gentle sigh of wind, the stars on the deep blue field echoing the sky above.  The sky is so soft and blue and deep I could almost feel myself falling up into the limitlessness of it, my snowflake jammies warm in the still air, blue fuzzy slippers trailing along behind.

This is the time of deep mid-winter, of frosty mornings and cozy evenings by the fire.  We've already gained an hour or so of sunlight since the solstice, but the cold has not eased it's grip, not even for the traditional January thaw.  It puts me in mind of how winter was when I was small:  endless acres of fields buried beneath the drifts, icicles on the eaves, cold toes and wet mittens.  I must admit, I'm enjoying it.  Yes, I said it, I'm actually enjoying the cold and the snow!  I think I'm acclimated to it.  This morning I was out doing some chores and the sun felt warm on my shoulders.  I got so warm I had to take off my hat and scarf, only to come in and notice the thermometer said 3 below zero.  Sunday it was all the way up to 19, and it felt like Spring to me so I went shopping after church without my jacket.

Driving to work at -15 F.

What can I say, I've always loved winter.  We wore snow pants and boots to school, and hats and mittens Grandma had knitted.  One afternoon when I was about eight the schoolbus got stuck in a giant drift, so the farmer at the closest house put a bunch of straw in his manure spreader, hooked it to the tractor, and came out to the bus.  We all clambered off the bus and into the manure spreader and had us a hilarious hayride as he went from house to house, getting everyone home before dark.  Our parents were grateful, and us kids thought it was a blast.  Can you imagine something like that happening now, in these days of political correctness, irresponsibility, and lawsuits?

Of course, it's not all fun and games.  The propane bill is wiping out my savings, and there's been some terrible accidents in the county.  And every now and then when I'm looking at seed catalogs I'm anxious to get back in the garden.

But fter a couple of years with little snow, it's been great to get out my cross-country skis again.  Skiing through drifts is a lot of work!  Fortunately I found a snowmobile trail to follow for a while.  Fresh air, sunshine, and diamonds all around.  What could be better?

By the time I got back around, my tracks were starting to fill in again.

Skiing where no one has skied before!

 Last winter I bought a used snowblower, and never needed it.  This year I can't say just how happy I am to have it!  Trying to shovel my driveway would have just been overwhelming this year.  Thankfully this old machine has been staring right up and working well.  I'm also so blessed to have a 4x4 truck!  The winds have made it difficult for the road crews to keep up, and there's a time or two I probably would have been stuck, if not for that magical button on the dash.

Work has been taking a lot of time, with plenty of meetings and such.  Many days it seems I hardly  get through supper and do up the dishes before it's bedtime already, but I have been working on projects, such as trying to finally finish the window quilts for the front room, cleaning out the basement, and experimenting with some new recipes for laundry soap and venison lunchmeat.  I've also been dealing with some allergy-type things and have embarked on a crusade to not only get chemicals out of my home but to improve my immune system.

So all in all, it's been a  busy winter!  I hope this finds all of you doing well.  God bless, and stay warm!

More Winter!

Well, the weather guessers, as a friend likes to call them, are running around squawking with their feathers ruffled.  Seems mid-Michigan is supposed to get some snow.  I'm ok with that.  As a Michigan native, I sort of expect that this time of year.  To be honest, I'd like to see more than the paltry 5" to 7" that is forecast. I'd like to see a good 12" or more - enough to shut down every school in three counties, and close my office for the day.  Wouldn't a day off to stay home warm and snug just be wonderful? 

Of course, as a Michigan native that has seen almost fifty winters, I'm smart enough to prepare for the challenges of the season.  I've loved winter for as long as I can remember, and while the severe cold is getting a bit hard on the joints I still love it.  I suppose as with many things, it's the childhood experience that sets one's preferences in life.  My young childhood had an idyllic setting - a forty acre farm equipped with a hundred-year old house, a massive barn with hand-hewn beams and large hayloft, a small creek bisecting the property, and beautiful, giant maple trees flanking two sides of the house.  Best of all was the catalpa tree in the back yard that leaned a bit to the east, making it so easy to climb, and the tire swing tied to a stout branch.

That farm was where I learned to love the pattern and rhythm of the seasons and it's the site of so many memories - that first spring bike ride, splashing through the icy puddles on the dirt road; the glory of those maples every autumn, summer afternoons with the catalpa tree blossoms floating in my little wading pool.  But it is the winter I remember most clearly, the smells and sights and feelings of it.  Perhaps because winter brought Christmas?  Perhaps because I immersed myself in the stories of Silver Chief and the Yukon Territory?  Hard to say.

I remember magical first snows, the type that is a pure, fluffy white with the blades of grass showing through, perfect for building snowmen, and the dry squelching sound my boots made in it.  I remember staying outside until my fingers and toes were tingling with cold, and my mittens were soggy.  Mom would call us in for lunch, spaghettios and milk in front of the kitchen fireplace and oh how we'd holler as our hands and feet thawed!

Dad would use a front end loader to clear the driveway and push the snow up into piles perfect for playing king of the hill and trying out our new plastic sleds.  We had the kind that were a simple sheet of dark blue plastic with a couple of holes cut in for handles.  The plastic naturally liked to live in a roll shape, and wasn't fond of unrolling.  It was always a bit tricky to try to unroll it and try to hold it flat while simultaneously jumping on to it before it rolled up again or took off down the hill before one had both butt-cheeks on it.  More often than not, sled and kid would end up bumbling down the hill in a sort of half-rolled sandwich, boots, scarves, and mittens poking out at odd angles, landing in a giggling heap at the bottom.

Sometimes I would wake up early, well before dawn, but the world would still be light, snow gleaming with thousands of sparkles under a bright moon.  I would wake up my little brother, and the two of us would quietly pad down the stairs and out into the kitchen, where I would make each of us a bowl of oatmeal.  We'd put on our snowsuits and struggle into our boots and mittens, and let ourselves out into the silver world, amazed at the velvet blue sky above, and the intricate blue shadows on the snow under the trees.  We'd climb up into the hayloft and build a fort out of bales, then snuggle down and read books, the cows sleepily murmuring in the stalls below.

Now that I think of it, that may have been the last time I enjoyed getting up early!

With memories like those, who wouldn't love winter?  Yes, as a grown-up I've had to face the reality of frozen water pipes, heat bills, icy roads, and getting stuck; and sad incidents of  folks being stranded or killed in accidents, but I've never lost my love for winter.  And as I said before, I keep prepared for it.

Recently I pulled my pack out of the truck and went through it again to make sure it was well-stocked and ready for anything from being stranded by a storm to a vehicle break down.  It really doesn't take a lot of money to gather a few things together.

I start with a nifty camouflage pack that is designed to function as a backpack, as well as attach to the back of the truck seat that I found on a clearance rack for ten bucks.  In that pack I have:
blanket (bright red fleece and zips up to form a light-weight sleeping bag)
change of clothes
old windbreaker
water in pouches (freezes without bursting, ordered from Amazon)
power bars
hot chocolate and instant soup
metal cup
sterno fuel and folding stove
first aid kit
matches
compass
knife
personal care package (toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, etc; the little bottles you get at a hotel are great for this)
foot and hand warmers
gloves
hat
multi-tool
sunscreen
insect repellant

It's amazing, but it all fits in the pack, and the pack fits under the back seat of the truck.  There's another pack for the vehicle things, like cans of fix a flat, bungee cords, jumper cables and so on, and the snow shovel and can of gas go in the truck bed.  And as with many preparations, I always hope I don't need any of it, but it's peace of mind to know I have it.  Hmm, that sort of sounds like a motto, doesn't it?

Until next time, God bless you and keep you safe, my friends.

Musings on the Way Home

February often puts me in a contemplative mood.  The busyness of December and January have faded, and I inevitably come to the realization that winter is getting soft around the edges before I've had a chance to play in the snow.  The days are getting longer, the sun stronger, but my skis are still warm and dry in the hall closet, and there's nary a snowman to be seen in my yard.  When did life become such busyness, so much work and so little play? 

I decided to take the long way home, just to get out and about a little. The animals have started moving about more, large herds of deer and flocks of turkeys crossing the fields and feeding even right up near the road.  Traveling the back roads took me around an Amishman, long gray beard flowing over his shoulder as he rattled along in a tiny cart pulled by a fractious horse; past snow-draped fields with the remnants of cornstalks showing, half-frozen creeks, gray silos standing guard over red barns and rutted lanes, and critters everywhere.  On just that one trip home I saw over 200 deer, 150 turkeys, 6 hawks, and one bald eagle.  It was warm enough, at 34 degrees, for a native Michigander to ride around with the window down, and I could smell the wet mud scent under the cold, soft scent of the snow, and hear the truck tires swush on the gravel road.  The roads were deserted enough that I could come to a full stop in the middle of the road and stare at the eagle circling overhead.

I was still restless when I got home, so I took the old dawg out for a walk, which is always fun, but never more so when there's snow to play in.  The number of tracks we saw were amazing - deer, turkeys, rabbits, coon, somebody's undersnow tunnel, and some I couldn't identify - and it was clear, given the dawg's reaction, that each trail of prints left an equal trail of scent.

So the the sun finally tumbled below the horizon, the temperature dipped, and it was time to go inside and light the fire and relax in my chair.  The happy, large, hairy, muddy dawg sprawled on the floor in utter disregard for my carpet.  Ah well, a happy pet is worth some carpet cleaning, right?

 Happy-happy-dig-dig-dig

Even the bits of snow thrown up by the plow leave delicate little tracks.