Posts Tagged ‘winter is coming’

sheltering sky

more sheltering sky

Well it’s not Vermont, but oh we got snow. Last weekend, we went from contrasting colors, migrating geese and rather “Winter is coming” mountain vistas to “No really, winter is here. And it wants a sandwich.”




As you can see, we got rather a lot of snow. So much snow, in fact, that I am rethinking my previous assertation that we had snow a few weeks ago. Snow? Ok maybe that was like, a tiny sprinkle of snow. A hinting at snow. This? This is SNOW.


I’ve seen snow before when visiting friends back East, but always after it has fallen. I never got to watch it fall before. Never got to see it when it was fresh – covering every leaf, every branch, every post. The world really does look like one of those tourism postcards promoting the beauty of the mountains, enticing people to come up and ski. I liked walking through it every day, crunch crunch crunch in an otherwise quiet world of white.

We had quite a spectacular collection of icicles. They grew and grew every day. I wasn’t sure why some houses (ours) had icicles and others didn’t, but the Captain tells me that this is how you can tell which houses are occupied. The warm air under the roof melts the snow and makes the icicles. The vacation cabins didn’t have any. Pity. Every cabin should get some icicles, if you ask me.




A certain kind of adventurous spirit can really enjoy the snow.


On the other hand… some spirits are less adventurous.


I suppose I am with the cats on this one. I was rather content to laze about next to the wood fire with my knitting, mug of tea in hand, watching fat flakes slowly drift down. The Captain industriously shoveled snow away from the bird feeders and the car (a good thing, that) and where ever else we needed to be.


shovel that snow

Shoveling snow is not so much my thing. I’d rather be eating pancakes. The nice thing about pancakes is, you can call in the person who is shoveling the snow and set a hot plate of pancakes and bacon in front of them, and they will think you are simply great. You will get all kinds of kudos. Plus, pancakes. Enlightened self interest for the win.

Sadly, our little red Honda has proven itself useless with even a little bit of snow on the road – even with chains. I’m thinking snow tires might help with the traction issue a little bit, but it is very apparent that Tosh is not really a Winter Kind Of Car. I think if cars had feelings, she’d be terribly sorry about that fact, being such a generally reliable little thing.

car getting buried

I keep telling her it will be all right come spring. And there are worse things than being snowed in for 4 days with pancakes, bacon and hot tea, while you wait for roads to melt. Even if you are out of clean socks.

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The huge horrible task of taking our very overgrown and wild yard down to bare earth and creating a fire-safe zone around the cabin is done. The last of the bags of detritus went off to the slash pile this morning. Oh there’s a spot here or there, I suppose, but for the most part we are ready to settle into some kind of routine maintenance.

Of course now that I say that, I think, “Oh but we have to put in pavers by the front walk and I wanted to lay down pea gravel on the parking berm and… and… and…” and the Captain looks at me dubiously, knowing that the list of things that start with, “Honey Please Help Me Do This…” is growing. And not that I blame him, you know. There is reading to be doing. Always. Pea gravel and pavers can butt into book time if you let them. The trick is not to let them.


We are in the process of demoing our back deck, which was rotten and squishy.  A little disconcerting to look out the back door and see an 8 foot drop. The cats keep running over and meowing anxiously at the window. “Hey guys? Uh. I hate to tell you this but, someone stole our deck.” Like the little plastic castle, it seems to be a surprise every time.


I have big plans for spring. New bird feeders and some bird baths, a stone path to the creek, and perhaps a little bridge up the daffodil hill where the fire pit lives. I am slowly creating what amounts to bird nirvana in our yard.


My birds are a source of unending delight. I will miss them when they move south for the worst of the winter.


The pace here is slower and quieter, but richer somehow.


There is more room for thinking and less noise to keep you from it. I feel like we are just now starting to get into tune with it and soon winter will be here just when I am starting to adjust to autumn.


As the year gets darker, I am grateful for the act of building the morning fire, of stacking the firewood,  and cooking dinner with the Captain… that rhythm is kind of like a heartbeat. The cats do their part, making sure I am laughing.


Living is different here. I like it. The other day was cold, so I put on my warm coat when I went out. I felt so grateful to have it, so grateful for the simple feeling of being warm. At some point I just started taking things like that for granted. There is a lot of gratitude. Not the deliberate practice of coming up with a list each day, just the sense of thankfulness that comes because you are genuinely glad that something is real or true or exists in your world. Small things, big things, things you can’t touch… I swim in it daily.


Darkness, messy yard, and all.

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