After Stormageddon

It was just another winter snowstorm--but it was enough to close the university for a day and most schools for two days. Under the pressure of very high winds (gusts of at least 70mph), fine snow blew into the attic through the vents and the metal caps for the gables. I cleared away about five gallons. The doors opened onto five-foot wind-carved bulwarks of snow. I lost a handle bolt from the snowblower and broke a shearpin, but eventually we cleared it all up. After two days of being more or less housebound, I took the dogs into the woods. Frey turned back almost at once. It was glorious to see the sun again. The bare trunks cast long evening shadows even in the morning.

Deep in the woods, small rays of gold pierced the canopy to create little blazes of light like candles in the branches.Ollie plunged gallantly onward, bunny-hopping to get on top of the snow where it was deep. Valla trudged along behind.

Every now and then you could catch a glimpse of an open field full of light beyond the conifers. This is a view of Pat's plantation; it will be much darker in a few years as the trees fill in.

It really did look like a late evening scene. Somehow, night is never far away in winter; the sun is so low on the horizon that the shadows never suggest morning. Ollie is pretending not to be tired--he's foraging off the path. However, as soon as he got inside, he threw himself down by the woodstove for a nap. 

Year of Living Variously

We had our January thaw in December, and it was lovely. Weather was ever varied, and it has been even more varied than usual. Since Christmas, temperatures have fallen and fallen far; twenty below is typical. I caught the spirit of the freeze-thaw cycle in mid-month. The bare trees are reflected in the dark water.

In the New Year, it has been cold enough to freeze my fingers even inside insulated gloves--true mitten weather. The dogs take it in stride, though they venture off the trail much less than usual.

We are in the time of long shadows and melancholy light. Here the snow has a hard crust, almost enough to bear your weight (but not quite, so progress is halting and jarring).
Now and then, a beam of light breaks through and the tops of the trees are illuminated in light that would be warm if only the dreadful cold would allow it.

However, we are nearly a month past the shortest and darkest day of the year. Brighter times will come! Meanwhile, my attitude toward the trees has changed drastically. I have seen too many co-dominant stems split a tree down the middle to think they are best left to their own devices, but now I realize that their fecklessness runs deeper. They cluster together enviously, and the result is massive uprooting in any strong wind. The new year will bring a season of vigorous culling. . . .