Frozen

Waking up to a sky that is barely light, I peer out the eastern window.  A fairyland of wintry magic is out there.  In a hurry, I grab a few bites of breakfast washed down with scalding coffee, bundle up in layers, tie a scarf around my neck, and with my camera in my hand rush out to record this magical landscape before the warmth of the sun melts its frosty wonder.

It is so amazing what a little moisture on plants and buildings and fence posts can do.  Each tiny drop immediately becomes a frozen masterpiece when the temperature is just right.  I don't understand why some mornings are like this.  I imagine it has something to do with how saturated the night air is.  Our hilltop is often 'dewy' in the morning.  And when we have a night when the thermometer goes below freezing we awake to a sparkling new world.

Each common weed is clothed in fabric fit for a king or queen,  Tree branches bear frosty outlines that are something out of Currier and Ives print.  And the whole field full of gently swaying plumes of grass has become a symphony of dazzling light and glory. 

You can almost hear the angels singing.  Welcome to heaven.  Here on earth. 

...and good-bye....

I closed the door the final time.

But before I did I touched the lintel and said a prayer.

Dear God, keep this place safe and warm and full of love.

Let all who pass into these rooms feel welcomed and safe and free from worry and care.

Just as I have known love and laughter and endless blessing here within these walls of home, may others reap that same reward surrounded by loved ones and happy memories.

Heavenly Father, you know the pleasure and joy that has filled this house for many years.  Bring rivers and streams of blessings here so that everyone who dwells in this place may know Your Presence, not only here, but in their hearts as well.

Amen.

Snowed in

We knew this would happen when we built our new home out here on the hill.  We knew for a fact that, eventually, we would be snowed in.  We just didn't count on it happening quite this soon.

But we are doing well.  I notice that my munching habit is alive and well.  And I am trying to reach for an apple or carrot sticks instead of candy or cookies.

Last night I gave in and made waffles.  And they were so good.  I love my little waffle  iron, a gift from Andy's sister and brother-in-law a few Christmases ago.  It is small and makes single waffles that are just right for my plate.  I like mine a little on the soft side whereas Andy prefers his a little more done.  And with the handy control, we each get what we want.  Add a little fruit salad and a little ham and we are good to go.

I have put off making too many cookies yet.  I know that the time is coming but I just don't want to put so much out there where we will be tempted to eat them all before we give them away for Christmas.  That is my plan anyway.  Hopefully the weather will co-operate and I will make it to town before the cookie plate is bare.

The day before yesterday I made leibkuchen.  They are a tradition in Andy's father's family.  His great-grandmother was German.  And leibkuchen, or honey cookies, were a treat at Christmas.  I use Andy's mother's recipe.  They are much better if they age for a week or two.   They may not last that long.  I stored some away when I finished up the last  batch, but somehow the cookie-eater in the house sniffed them out and took a few.  They are pretty labor intensive and involve a lot of chopping and mixing and rolling.  And they are wonderful with a hot cup of tea on a snowy afternoon.

In fact, I hear a voice from the cookie jar calling me right now.  And who am I to ignore such a sweet request?

First Snow

The weatherman was right-on the other day when he issued a winter storm warning.  We rushed around and got prepared for ice, snow and freezing temperatures.  It seems early in the season for us to have snow, but it has happened before.

I am always amazed at the tons of people who flood the supermarkets and stores when bad weather is forecast.  When I lived in town I was also amazed to see those very same people who had cleared the dairy case out of milk and decimated the bread in the bread aisle back the very next day to shop some more.

I was feeling so smug this morning when I went to get the brown sugar for my oatmeal.  When I reached for the familiar plastic bag my heart did a little flip-flop.  Yes, you guessed it.  I had enough for my oatmeal...and for a few more oatmeals, but not enough for cookie baking and muffins.  I wrote it down on my grocery list.  Brown sugar.  And made a vow to check the cupboards carefully before I make another trip into town. But....I am not going tomorrow.  At least I don't plan on it!

Gray Sky

Today was one of those warming-up days that happen after a cold snap.  The first day of December.  A thick gray-wool sky with patches of blue shining through.  A dampness in the air that had a hint of moisture.  Heading off toward the southeast, we walked to get the cobwebs out of our brains before we cleaned up to go to church.  Last spring we decided to plant pine trees in some fairly steep patches of our field.  Rocky and inhospitable, it grows scrubby brush, sparse grass, and cedar trees.  We bought some seedlings from the Missouri Conservation Department and planted them down the more fertile looking part of the sloping field.  We check on them regularly and note that they have grown some, even with the drought this summer.  Moving on down toward the neighbor's fence line we checked on the cherry and holly bushes that had not fared so well.  A few of them have survived, but not many.

I looked over to the neighbor's pasture.  His cows looked back at me, placidly chewing their cud.  As we walked back up the hill we found a new den where some varmint has his home.  Armadillo?  Ground hog?  Fox?  Who knows. 

Making our way across the winter pasture we could see a marsh hawk swooping on ahead of us, ever vigilant, looking for the unwary mouse or rabbit to dine on.  Crows cawing.  No wind.  Just gray sky and silent nature. 

It is good to take a walk every now and then and check out what is happening.  Or not happening.  In the spring we look for budding plants.  In the summer we try to find the thistles and other weeds that we don't want to spread.  In fall we plan what we will plant in the spring after taking an inventory of what survived the summer heat.  But a walk in early December is just a walk.  Nothing spectacular.  Nothing noteworthy.  Just a gray sky with a promise of moisture in it.  Just a time to let your mind rest.  Just a chance to be.   

Nothing more...and nothing less.