And more snow....

This picture was taken in the early '60s.  It shows our house on Horseleg Road just up the hill from East Madison, New Hampshire.  We usually were there in the summer for camp and extended vacations.  But we very rarely got the  chance to go there in the winter.  Our Christmas break from school was long enough that year for us to make the trip from Wisconsin east to New England.  We planned on lots of skiing and fun.  What we didn't count on was snow, and more snow and more snow.

The house was not suited for winter use.  We had shut off the water and drained the pipes that fall.  But we were tough.  At least we thought we were.  What an adventure we would have.

The selectman had been kind enough to plow the road.  And a neighbor had ordered the oil for the heating stove in the kitchen and wood was stacked ready for the three fireplaces.  The house was built in the 1820's but the previous owners had added a modern kitchen and bath and had redone the fireplaces and chimney so they were in tiptop shape.

We moved into the living room and shut off the rest of the house.  After skiing all day we would come home, heat up the split pea soup that my mom had left on the backporch in the cold, change out of our wet snowy clothes and bask in the warmth of the fire.

Things went fine for a few days.  And then the storm hit.  It blew a gale.  We made it down the hill to the slopes that day but barely made it back before dark.  Entering the kitchen with a full pail of water from the outside well, my brother Paul sloshed some over the side.  As soon as it hit the kitchen floor it turned to ice.  That should have been our first sign that things were going to get dicey.  We heated up our soup and got ready for the evening in front of the fire.  But no matter how much wood we burned, it was still definitely cold in the house.  Surely, we thought, things will be better in the morning. 

The next day we were snowed in.  Paul went out to draw water.  The bucket banged on thick ice.  We brought in pans full of snow and melted them on the heating stove.  Around noon we noticed ice forming on the huge picture window that looked out over the mountains to the west.  Our first thought was what if the glass cracked and exposed us to the blowing wind?  We huddled in the living room, feeding the fire and hoping that the fuel oil for the stove in the kitchen would last. 

The next day was no better.  Was this what our long-awaited vacation was going to turn into.....locked in by snow and wind and no way to get out?  I mean, we were hardy and resilient and up for a challenge.  Just not this challenge.

Finally friends who lived nearby got worried about us and managed to make it up the hill to see what was going on.  We put on a brave front.  Oh yes, we were fine.  Nothing would budge us from our warm and cozy fire.  But the longer we talked the more they insisted that we  abandon our winter-wonder adventure on the mountain and come and stay with them.

And so we did.  It wasn't a very hard decision after all.  The prospect of a nice warm bed and a shower were very appealing.  And besides, we were all tired of  split pea soup.   

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.

Frosty morning

Over the last few months I have neglected my daily exercise routine.  After stepping on the scales a few weeks ago, I was not surprised, nor delighted to see that the pounds I had so diligently shed in the last year are slowly creeping back.  The one thing I knew I had to do was...hit the trail again, and make it a priority.

I waited until gun season was over and started the next morning bright and early.

Some observations.  It takes quite a few layers of clothing when I start my routine as the sun is peeping over the southeast horizon.  But as the minutes up and down the hill pass by, the layers come off one by one until I am striding along in sweatshirt and gloves.  Quite a sizable pile has grown in that spot where I leave my water bottle and pause to take a deep breath or two before I resume my walk.

Frost is everywhere.  It covers the grass, the weeds, the road.  And the rising sun adds to the beauty of it all.  Nothing like a diamond strewn net of frost on the pasture grass to bring a smile to your heart.

Sometimes the wind is fierce.  It feels good on my face when I warm up climbing the steeper part of the hill.  My fingers, that were basically freezing, even begin to thaw as I walk a little faster.  I really relish moving against the wind.  When I move into the shelter of the tree-lined road the contrast is remarkable.

I am glad that I can take this time early in the day to walk.  I see so many things that are new to me.  What is the name of that plant?  What kind of hawk is that, soaring high and then dropping low just beyond the walnut tree?  Where does the squirrel that just hopped over that nearby branch have his nest?

I welcome each new day.   It is truly a gift to me.  Thankfully, I walk on.