Earth Hour

I celebrate the gift of electricity.

Normally, I'm that annoying person who turns lights out and radios off as he goes from room to room--but once a year I do it differently.

That cold, cold, wet day

The wind scoured the driveway, and
the snow is falling horizontally.

Outside it was stormy,
Downstairs it was steamy,
Upstairs it was brewy.

This is actually wine, with some stout
in the background.

Steaming off the old wallpaper:
"Next time, all the plaster goes"

Piled Higher and Deeper

I sank some sticks into the snow this week, measuring the depths at different locations in the woods. I avoided drifts and filled hollows. On the way back, I collected the sticks and cut them off at the snowline.

 As you can see, the depth ranged from 25" to 34"--that's going to take a while to melt! At this rate, there will still be plenty to cool our heels in April.

Chaos

After a certain point in renovations, the careful plan turns to utter chaos. Nothing is straight, nothing is square, and bloody-mindedness threatens to set in. Note the 19th-century "dead air" technology: two layers of plaster. We kept the horror to a minimum by shovelling out the plaster as we went along. Nothing erodes morale faster than tromping over piles of what were once your walls. Keeping the site clean keeps it somehow saner. This was the worst stage; the wind blew freely through the walls in many places, and insulation was often conspicuous by its absence. There was no tar paper (itself a turn of the century innovation) over the sheathing. Eventually, we progressed to the vapour barrier stage--an innovation this old fabric had never seen.


The windows are still covered with plastic, and it certainly improves them. It will be sad to lose these arched window frames, but I really cannot wait to have something more efficient. Even with "modern" aluminium storm windows, they are draughty.
After a few days of this, a walk in the woods is most welcome, and the weather cooperated. We are entering the best part of winter: warm, sunny days; moderate nights; and mild breezes. The dogs approved of a return to morning walks. The woods are full of rabbit tracks this winter, and Ollie is constantly lured off the trail by enticing smells. Then he has to swim back through the deep snow. Every trip, I tear down the branches that impinge on the trail (otherwise, when I walk before dawn I get slapped in the face). Even so, I find more branches to take down daily; I think the path must be well above ground level at this point. I'll try to measure the snow depth today, but I think there must be about three feet of it. The trees generally look quite healthy, but many have lost their leaders. Much of that damage took place during Arthur, and they haven't had a chance to recover. Everywhere I go I see more work for the spring--perhaps a hundred full-grown trees to take down. Forestry guidelines suggest young trees will recover fully from a lean of no more than 15 degrees; we have plenty at about 90! Most, unfortunately, are Tamarack--very poor firewood. Some I may dry out and use for supports for the workshop.

Something's rotten. . . .

Some jobs loom over one for years; this is one of them. I made a start this weekend, doing about as much as one can until the frost is out of the ground. First of all, here is the problem: Partly because of the damp in the workshop cellar, partly because of the quaint local custom of boarding up DIRT as an insulator, a number of joists (six) had rotted.

It did not help that they had been installed on 24-inch centres. As a result, the floor sagged badly, and my table saw seemed destined to plunge deep in the cold, dark ground. Yesterday and today I tore out the worst of the joists and installed new 2 by 8s, with a carry beam supported on jack posts.

Dealing with the wires that were strung through the joists was troublesome, but my trusty reciprosaw made pretty short work of cutting notches and freeing the cables. When the frost leaves the ground, I'll pour some sturdy footings and complete the job. The chimney is in the way, but I'll have to wait a few months to take that out. I'm always surprised at how picturesque this hell hole looks in photos. It gives me hope.

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. . . .