Tag Archives: Dr.Zhivago

The Hunkering Down

Buffeted Crest

Buffeted Crest

The sound of Christmas music fades into the distance, the peals of New Years’ bells fall silent. The festive decorations, the electric lights, and the strings of greeting cards will be put away. Old calendars removed and new ones hung. Retire last year’s Farmer’s Almanac to the shelf in the library, beside the previous twenty volumes.

January is here, and the time for hunkering down. Shuttering windows, stoking fires. The winds sweep down Victory Mountain from the west, shaking our little vale, blowing up snow devils that dance across frozen hay fields.  They twist and race across the roads, piling drifts against the hedgerows, beleaguering the geese camping in the corn stubble, their heads bowed, backs to the wind.

Pray for Snow

Pray for Snow

February Snows

February Friends

Snow Shovel

Snow Shovel

The smell of wood smoke hangs in the air, and the singularly magical scent of snow. Sounds are muffled; footsteps, passing cars, yelps of excited children up on the hill, sledding their cares away.

Make no mistake, we may guard ourselves against winter’s onslaught, but we shall not be hermits! Into the wild white and wind we boldly step, to ski the slopes, to drill holes through the ice from which we’ll pull some fish. We’ll ride snowmobiles and toboggans, we’ll don boots and snowshoes. We’ll throw snow balls at one another, and build snowmen and ice forts and igloos and snow sculptures. We’ll get soaking wet and rosy-cheeked and we’ll retire to a fire-filled cast iron stove and a bucket of hot chocolate.

Cathedral Summit

Cathedral Summit

Fishing Duane Lake

Fishing Duane Lake

Dad's Jag

Dad’s Jag

The best is yet to come. When the windows are frosted over like in Doctor Zhivago, and we make a game of checking the thermometer. Minus two. Minus twelve. Minus eighteen.

The wind will howl over our heads, and the fields will be vast seas of blowing white dust. Now it’s time for hot tea and warm hands. Time to close the drapes, put the fir-needle-filled draft stopper in front of the cellar door. Time for double socks and electric blankets, down ticks and cold noses.

Then one day we will find ourselves in the center of a white wonderland, bright sun shining, not a stir in the air. There will be friends and laughter, or perhaps solitude and the rapture of nature. The sun and the snow and the smell and even the cold itself will fill us with the thrill of the season, the bravado of those that brave the elements, the simple wonder of a world transformed.

Winter Sun

Winter Sun

December 30 First

All around lie the remnants of summer and fall.

These dry brown grasses, the tall and the small.

Each conifer stretches, the low and the high,

Each stretches, in vain, its limbs to the sky.

The sun hangs low in its arc, nonchalant.

Neglecting her Earthbound petites enfants.

The Cold comes to slumber, and lumber around,

Packing the earth to hard frozen ground.

The Smoke of Chimneys dances and twirls,

Having never seen the Summer World.

I’ll shutter the window, put a log on the fire,

And patiently wait for the Year to expire.

As into the pink night sky sets the sun,

Another year’s ended

As another’s begun.

Snowscape

Snowscape

Let the peace of the season follow you throughout the year.

Take care and keep in touch.

 

Paz

 

 

 

January Journal

Whitetail Deer, Rosenburg

Whitetail Deer, Rosenburg

Winter has brought its gamesmanship this year, and is keeping us guessing every day. November and December were unusually warm, and we had a “Green Christmas”, with no snow cover. On the 27th of December, I found dandelions blooming on the lawn, and it was 53 degrees F.

December?

December?

We kicked off January with Pop Pop’s New Year’s Eve Sleepover for Grandkids.  We filled the otherwise-empty nest with a few kids and stayed up to watch the famous ball drop in Times Square. We had enough snacks for a party of twenty, and enough confetti for a hotel ballroom.

 

As of today, we barely have a snow cover. We had about eight or ten inches of snowfall, most of which has melted or blown away.

Nowadays I look forward to the snow, even the cold. It really doesn’t last that long, just eight or twelve weeks when you think about it. Even then, there are many days during the toughest winters that are mild. The January thaw, those rare and gorgeous days when there’s snow on the ground, ice on the pond and it’s sunny and 36 degrees F. Beautiful.

It’s funny how people think of the weather calendar. Last fall it was barely September first and folks started saying things like “Before you know it, there will be snow.” with a twinge of agony. These same folks are looking so far ahead and thinking of misery. We had all of September and October to enjoy with hardly any likelihood of snow. Once in a while we’ll see a flurry before Halloween, on Halloween once! This year we had no snow right through the end of the year. A new record in the books for latest first snowfall.

Oddly these folks aren’t talking about seeing their first Colt’s Foot, an event that’s barely eight weeks from now.

January skies are second only to February skies. The air is clearer, the colors deeper. Sunsets and sunrises are my favorites. Walking the trail with Chuy The Wonderdog, we often “put the sun to bed” as we walk the last hour of daylight.

Haven’t been ice fishing yet this season. The first half of the winter was too mild to form enough ice. My fishing buddy Joe, a real die-hard ice fisherman, has only been out a couple of times. Not looking good for this weekend either, as temps in the low teens will combine with 20 mile-per-hour winds to make it bone-chilling miserable on the open ice.

And so, January 2016 is history. A twelfth of the year gone already. Time sure flies when you’re waiting and wishing for snow and that perfect winter day on the pond.

Meanwhile, time to plan our Zhivago day, where we put the 3-hour movie on, sip hot coffee, wrap up under blankets, and be thankful we’re not in Siberia during the Russian Revolution.

Bet they had some great ice fishing, though, once they cut through the four feet of ice.

 

Take care and keep in touch,

 

Paz