Mid-April

Native dogwood in bloom during first week of April.

Petals were drifting on the wind as I walked down the lane this morning.

The first male hummingbirds arrived April 7th; I caught a very fleeting glimpse of a female yesterday. 

I've seen only a few bluebirds this year, a few robins, a male goldfinch wearing summer plumage.

Wild turkeys have strolled the edges of the meadow, squirrel families are cavorting in the trees and [unwisely] in the grass beneath the black walnut trees.

Woodpeckers are busily drilling in the trees along the ravines.

Clematis 'Samaritan Jo.'

Clematis Dr. Ruppel

Dr. Ruppel is the closet variety I could find locally to replace vintage Nelly Moser which didn't transplant from our first Kentucky property.

Duchess of Edinburgh

This is the most delicate of my clematis varieties, very frost tender and the stems easily broken during pruning or tying in. 

The full ruffled blooms make up for the plant's finicky nature.

Clematis Edita is being slowly smothered by her neighbor, 'Samaritan Jo.'

A feeble unnamed clematis succumbed to the late winter ice and snow. I considered buying a new plant, but have decided to move Edita to the vacant spot after blooming.

Delicate but thriving, 'Arabella'.

My favorite, Candida, always rushes into bloom, often having the first buds nipped with frost.

A delightful vintage variety, I've not seen it for sale locally, but apparently available from online sources.

Peonies in bud in the messy rough strip of garden by the lane.

No doubt our much needed rain will finally move in about the time the peonies bloom.

Two varieties of wiry-stemmed perennial pinks grown from seed. I used them to edge the wall of the south-west garden. As a few die out I find others sprung from seed in the grass below or beyond the planted strip.

First flower stalks appearing on foxglove. Note the dryness of the soil.

Achillea/yarrow originally grown from seed, moved to the corner of the greenhouse when two raised beds near the house were moved to accommodate the new front porch. 

The lean-to greenhouse was a casualty of the garage/shop fire. Strangely these plants were almost untouched. I'm planning to move them to a safe spot before the clean-up effort takes place in that area.

It is a delight to find that seeds of Lauren's Grape poppies landed in nearly every clump of perennials moved from the two raised beds near the porch. Some are nearly ready to bloom, others are tiny emerging plants. Several of the poppies have appeared in my daughter's garden, the seeds lying dormant in a clump of deep pink yarrow she transplanted late last summer. 

Billowing clouds moving in from the west at noon, but still no rain. 

March and April have typically been chilly wet months here.

Several years ago a hard frost in early May stripped new leaves from the trees and blighted the early garden.

Jim planted potatoes a few days before the fire with the idea of making another planting.

The extra seed potatoes were stored in the greenhouse along with small gardening tools, sprayers and such. 

There has been no time during the massive and grimy clean-up to consider more gardening.

I have about two dozen tomato plants started under lights in the basement; those have been transplanted to larger pots and crowded back under the lights, but my usual sowing of flower and veg seeds to be  grown on in the greenhouse isn't possible. 

I've been poking about in the large planters near the front steps--finding a few more poppy seedlings and a few self-sown pansies. I found a pkt of dwarf nasturtium seeds left from last season and prodded them into the soil of a large, rather battered pot. 

Willis-the-cat has been much interested in my efforts; he has always supervised my tasks in the greenhouse, resulting in trays of seedlings barricaded with plastic cutlery and twigs.

Deprived of the greenhouse, it will be interesting to see how he--and I--proceed this spring with gardening. 

Clean-up progress.

Jim and the friendly salvage man, D.B. have labored to remove the larger hulks of charred tool chests, tools and equipment, which have been hauled away

Salvage guy didn't show up today as expected, so Jim went to work removing the warped metal siding of the barn.

This is the view from the long north side of the structure.

It is dirty work. My only contribution is laundering grimy clothes.

We completed our inventory of tools and personal property lost, handed it to the insurance agent on Monday.

Now we wait for them to review, process and offer a settlement.

It is part of the insurance scheme that while we pay in for years, usually a claim is hard won.

We have acquired a MF tractor, a 2013 Honda Odyssey, a zero-turn mower, essential tools from Harbor Freight.

Jim has suggested we need an outing to one of the nearby farm supply stores to purchase garden tools.

I'm hoping this summer's garden might be of a more manageable size than previous years. That would be one good result from the unexpected devastation of the fire!

 

A Week Out From The Fire

My heart has always hurt for those who lose a home or their belongings to fire, flood or tornado. 

It was Jim's workshop/garage that went up in flames last Sunday, thankfully not our house.

It was a horrifying moment to look out the window and see this, only a half hour after Jim came in from using one of the tractors to 'turn' a strip of the garden. 

He always shuts off the gas line after using one of his vintage tractors; we have no idea how the fire started but it was immediately unmanageable.

Car and pickup had been filled with gas on the Thursday, there were three tractors, the zero turn mower, chain saws, all containing gas.

The explosions as the fire enveloped each one were deafening--much as I imagine bombs going off. 

My hands shook as I used the landline phone to dial 911; I had trouble stating our address to the dispatcher. It was as though my brain was working very slowly.

The loss of the building, our vehicles, all of Jim's tools and equipment, his tractors, difficult to process.

Family members have been wonderful, driving at speed to arrive here as fire trucks from several local volunteer brigades came roaring in. 

Neighbors assembled, I learned later that two of the utility trucks on the scene belonged to the power company and the forestry service respectively--the forestry people because our acreage is surrounded on three sides by wooded ravines.

The wind was blowing, as it has for days, hurling heat and flames toward the house. 

As I stood in wordless fear, the wind suddenly changed--and I believe in nothing less than a miraculous intervention.

Our elderly cat, Willis, often naps in the lean-to greenhouse so I feared for him.

After the fire trucks left and the flames died down, he appeared from under the front porch and with great aplomb strolled to the remains of the garage, pausing at each bay to gaze at the wreckage.

I have detailed on Facebook the fire and the tremendous job of cleanup and replacement that is underway.

I find I don't want to write more at present of the ordeal.

We are beyond thankful for the help from family, the kindly outreach of friends and church members. 

We have the loan of grandson D's truck; there is the vintage Ram Charger that was safely stored in son H's garage. 

Our daughter loaned a car that intimidated me--my Honda CR-V was 13 years old and I never did use all its capabilities--G's Denali has a bewildering array of gadgets [apps?]

 The burned out vehicles have gone away.

Jim works a few hours at a time to pile crumpled metal, shovel debris [borrowed shovel and wheelbarrow!] and the cheerful salvage guy will be back this week to start hauling away the mess and pulling down the scorched shell of the building.

We are weary, but we have our home--a bit grubby with tracked in soot--but safe over our heads. 

I will remember that I used to drive confidently any vehicle available and can likely manage until we find the right replacement for my car.

Given the price of gas we were already consolidating our errands.

We are over-tired, brain-fogged, we are in the elderly category, but we've never been quitters!

Lord willing, we will get through this unexpected dilemma!

Jim walking stoically past the smoldering remains.

The dismal view on Monday morning.

A replacement tractor located nearby and purchased on Tuesday. A tractor is a necessity!

The vintage Ram Charger delivered by Howard and Shannon.

Matt arrived early Tuesday morning with a Troybilt tiller--and a fresh donut for Jim from the bakery in town.

Yard tools, carpentry tools from Howard's stash.

A lilac has bloomed--its sweet scent on the breeze brings me assurance that the rubble and the sour stench of fire will  be cleared away.

 

Typical March Weather

First showing of redbud, barely visible through evening rain.

We've had a weather mix, to be expected in a Kentucky spring; the spring season most anywhere is one of fits and starts--balmy warmth, rain, wind and chilly evenings. 

Most days thus far have offered a mixture of clouds and sun with brief showers.

Daytime temps have risen to the mid-high 70's F, causing the meadow to green and the wild daffodils to rush into their prime.

Driving today on the Dunneville RD I noted that the south-facing curve in the road that presents the first yellow blooms is now bare of flowers.

I have prowled about outside, clipped back the plants in the raised beds, counted 6 foxgloves that seem to have survived the late fall planting. Several more poppies have emerged along the edge of the raised bed by the front steps and three are growing in a huddle inside the newest bed. No sign of the lemon monarda that I expected would be perennial. Achillea raised from seed is flourishing in one of the black bins and will need a permanent home.

Signs of life have [amazingly!] emerged on all three of the buddleia. 

The resident squirrels are busy; phoebes are investigating nesting spots in the open alleyways each side of the shop.

Asian lady beetles have squeezed through the window casings in the sun porches in such numbers that vacuuming them seems the only way to remove them, with the result that the vacuum cleaner emits a rank odor whenever it is used.

My thoughts are as unsettled as the weather--decisions to make about my gardens; family concerns. Like many others I am distressed by the uproar caused by war and by the conflicting reports regarding it; how is it possible to trust a government controlled by unstable personalities.

Edgy, restless, distrustful, I'm waiting for the other shoe to fall.

I work outdoors as much as I can. If the afternoon is sunny, I brew a mug of tea, take a snack of sliced apple and cheese, sit in a rocking chair in the south-east sunroom, cats companionably sprawled on the floor--or in the case of Thimble--perched on a windowsill to watch the swooping of birds, the dashing of a squirrel under the trees.

So much is beyond what we can influence or control, in the greater world, and in our own small sphere,

Que sera, sera!

The fire-damaged magnolia in the lower pasture, still robustly blooming.

This photo gives an idea of the damaged stumps of the trunk that have been cut away.

Note that the remaining portion of the trunk is also compromised.

Two small clumps of wild daffodils growing in the underbrush above the south ravine.

I've thought of moving them to join a rescued clump near the east retaining wall of our house.

The lower magnolia is the hybrid, "Jane" coming into full bloom always a few days earlier than the nearer one, "Susan." Below are my two lilacs, not perfectly happy in our humid summers, but providing a nostalgic memory of springtime in New England.

"Susan."

Forsythia, where the curve of our upper drive joins the communal lane.

Clematis "Candida" rushing the season as usual.

All my clematis are showing some degree of fresh growth.

I planted common and lemon thyme at the base of the two growing on the large trellis in the back garden. The thyme has spread--which is good--the usual weeds, henbit/dead nettle, the other green and juicy ones that I haven't named are growing rankly.

This morning I wrestled with matted wiry stems trying to bring some order to the untidy clumps. 

Wind and rain this evening tearing petals from the magnolias.

To paraphrase Shakespeare: 'Rough winds do shake the darling buds of--March!'

 

First Day of March

'Jane' magnolia, rushing the season.

Sunshine all day--a welcome change from too much gloomy weather in February.

I pegged sheets and towels on the back porch lines around noon where they flapped in the sun and wind, needing only a few minutes in the dryer when I brought them in at dusk. 

I peeled off my sweatshirt/hoodie and was comfortable in a long-sleeved jersey to work for several hours in the wall garden on the west side of the house.

I snipped dead stalks from the foxglove and gently pulled away winter-browned leaves to uncover the fresh green crowns. 

The foxgloves raised from seed last summer and belatedly set out in one of the black bins near the veg garden are looking far gone; I'm hoping a few will revive.

I did some cautious pruning of the clematis vines on the big trellis, likewise the wiry tangle of thyme at the base of the trellis.

Dead stems of monarda and purple coneflower cut away, then grubbing in the endless weeds that choke that bed. Henbit or the related dead nettle thrive through the winter along with various other evergreen and maliciously spreading ground cover weeds whose names I look up each spring and promptly forget. 

I labored over that small tiered garden for several years before a DVT in late March, 2021 put an end to my crawling about on the ground.

I can't call the area a success and don't know how to proceed to achieve something manageable that will preserve the foxglove and several roses along the wall. 

I suspect the large white-flowered butterfly bush will have succumbed to the weeks of bitter cold, as also the magenta -flowered pair in the raised bed alongside the greenhouse. 

I've replaced buddleia in three Kentucky gardens over our years here. When I grumbled to my favorite nurseryman at Homestead Gardens he suggested I consider dividing the initial cost of the shrub by the 3-5 years that it usually winters over, which makes for a modest investment against the pleasure of the luxurious blooms and the delight of visiting butterflies.

It will likely be another month before I can determine if any of the three bushes survived the cold.

Jim collected up more of the branches that were brought down by the weeks of ice and cold, used the chainsaw to remove some broken limbs over-hanging the lower lane.

I'm cautiously making a mental list of tasks I'd like to attempt in the coming week, the first in several that I've not had church duties for which to prepare.

I need to go through an accumulation of opened seed packets and speculate which may still be viable.

There are letters I should write, both as emails and to send out by regular mail.

Still a few more items in the pantry to be sorted and either culled or rearranged.

My bedroom wants tidying, as do the shelves to the left of my desk--and how about my clothes closet?

Given my puttering inefficiency at such things, add in the usual household chores of cleaning and cooking--maybe I'll just decide to go downstairs and take up my sewing!

Three seedlings of Lauren's Grape poppies have emerged at the edge of the old raised bed by the steps. 

Three more have braved the narrow rim of hard-packed soil along the south-facing barn door adjacent to the greenhouse. None have yet appeared in the graveled walkway just inside the door, but I can hope.

I had several lovely poppy varieties in my first Kentucky garden; only the one kind moved with us via seeds randomly shed in neighboring planters;  most years some lodge between the pavers near the front steps and bloom.

I've purchased fresh seeds each year but none have germinated. 

However: late last autumn I found a packet of seeds I had overlooked. and sprinkled them over some exposed soil. I'm hoping this is a poppy and not the winter-shriveled relative of a weed. 

Jane magnolia.

Jane

Monarda, holding its own in the mat of ground-cover weeks.

Coming home yesterday from lunch with Matt and Gina, Jim chose a meandering route, finally lumbering over a narrow dirt track that in three places crossed a shallow creek.

With no fear of oncoming traffic he stopped the car so I could record this profusion of wild daffodils.

[I refuse to call them by the local name of 'March lilies!']

Here I sit, an elderly woman, pondering how to make a garden, listing the tasks I want to accomplish--small personal things that have no import in any larger sense, a sort of self-absorbed plodding while [as my Dad would have remarked] the 'world goes to hell in a handbasket.' 

Ending on a pensive note: a scattering of red feathers just inside the greenhouse door and the soft body of a titmouse at the edge of the back porch: little deaths.

What Have We Done With February?

 

By February 10 the last of the ice had melted off the driveway leaving runnels of water and a few spots slippery with mud.

We had been able to walk cautiously around the upper meadow path for several days. 

Robins were bouncing about the back meadow, picking in the soggy frosted grass for whatever nourishment they could find. 

Weather has been erratic: clouds, drizzles of rain; sun coming through for a few minutes or sometimes for an afternoon. 

I pegged sheets and towels on the back porch lines on two days last week where they flapped nearly dry, needing a few minutes in the dryer to finish.

Deer have left their pointy hoof prints in the softened meadow path.

A pair of bluebirds have been flitting about, several pert little titmice have hopped through the branches of the Susan hybrid magnolia.

I've been squirrel watching, though have not been able to sneak up on them for photos. 

The break in the weather seems to have inspired the squirrels to a house cleaning of their nest cavity in the tree visible from the kitchen window.

One or the other is often visible with face peering out; if I watch for a few minutes there is jostling and pushing until one squirrel exits the tree hole, runs up to a branch that makes a good launch to swing through adjoining bare trees. Several times going out with kitchen scraps I've startled one or both of the pair rummaging about on the ground. 

A heap of broken nut shells, mostly hickory nuts, has appeared at the base of the tree. On one warmer afternoon, a squirrel lolled, eyes shut, forepaws resting on a heap of shucks pushed to the 'door' of the nest, apparently interrupting 'house cleaning' to enjoy a bit of a snooze as the late sun shone onto the tree trunk. 

Like the resident squirrels I was [finally] inspired to tackle a bit of housekeeping that has needed done for months.

The round-about that holds bulk spices, salt, dried herbs in shaker-top containers, and various other cooking essentials had become a terrible muddle. 

I placed a folded fleece blanket on the floor, got down on my protesting knees and hauled everything out. There were some duplicate spice jars, items brought in when others of the family were cooking here, things that were outdated, all of which I ruthlessly confined to the trash.

I hauled myself up to the sink several times to wring out a dishcloth and wipe the shelves, then began gathering similar items into small bins, stacking the bulk spices and jars of cornstarch and such where they can be easily identified. 

That chore done, I struggled to my feet, washed down a Tylenol with a mug of tea, went to the piano to review music for church.

No surprise I woke next day feeling aching and rickety!

The right-hand side of the pantry I keep in reasonably good order; several of the compartmented shelves hold store-bought canned fruit and veg, others are stocked with glass containers of various pasta, grains, dried beans and lentils, rice, dried fruit. As long as I take a few minutes to put things away neatly after shopping, the area stays relatively organized.

The left -hand storage area defeats me. Two very deep shelves take up the space which on the other side of the wall becomes a sort of 'header' over the stairway to the lower level.

I can reach only half way into the space. Two crockpots live there, as well as an unmanageable assortment of plastic containers for leftovers. Pulling out what I need usually results in a tipple and the offending items hurled back in.

I've made some half-hearted searches online for bins or small adjustable shelving to corral the stuff, but have given up without finding a solution.

Part of the top shelf after renovation. Gina brought the wire racks.

Gina to the rescue.

There are still too many plastic containers but they have at least been grouped 'like with like.'

Both Howard and Gina have the gift of tidiness and a need to organize tools and belongings.

Jim and I do not have that asset in any marked degree, although we usually can find our own items when needed. 

I've spent a few minutes on amazon looking at storage options again, need to do some measuring to determine what would fit. An obvious partial solution would be to throw away still more of the plastic food containers. I do use them when sharing food with friends; that way there is no need to care if they are returned or not. 

Thimble--who needs to be 'helpful' with every household project, has been inspired to investigate and rearrange the shelves we've been reorganizing.

Moments ago she 'removed' a box of cereal so that she had ample room to sit on the shelf.

Thimble chose to scurry out of the pantry while I swept up the rice crispies on the floor.

The ones not spilled have been decanted into a Rubbermaid canister with locking lid.

Today, Sunday, has been blustering and cold, barely above freezing, and now at 8 p.m. it is 27 F. Snowflakes have drifted down in desultory fashion, only now clinging to the front porch steps and railings.

I went out early in the day with cat litter, to the porch with food for the outside cats, and at dusk out with kitchen scraps. The NW wind has a mean bite. 

We weren't inspired to walk today; Jim has been watching TV;

I delved into a review of family history.

We've eaten leftover shepherd's pie, tapioca pudding, Granny Smith apples, tea. 

With the colder weather I've not turned on the heat in my downstairs sewing area--Jim shuts the curtains in the big room at night and there haven't been enough sunny days to warm the room and justify the use of the electric mini-split for a mere few hours.

It has seemed a long month what with the cold and icy weather that hung on from the late January storms. The need to take on extra duties at church has meant some dedicated hours at my desk and at the piano. [Thimble-cat enjoys the piano!]

Bedtime reading is the third Cadfael omnibus. 

Jim's month has been more visibly productive than mine.

He felled a maple that had gone shaky at the base and several warmer afternoons gave him opportunity to split the wood, haul it to the woodshed where it is now neatly stacked.

Monday and Wednesday are forecast as 'partly sunny,' nights below freezing, weather moderating to 'showers' by the end of the week. 

Wild daffodils have pushed their green blades through leaf litter in the roadside ditches, the small clump near the south wall here are in tight bud.

Even the overcast days have lengthening evenings, and on the days when I've walked there is a faint scent of something that while not quite spring is less of a winter essence. 

Monday Evening

As I was coming to the end of this post on Sunday evening, the internet went down--and stayed down--until mid-morning today.

We woke to the grey skies that have become overly familiar, and a film of light frosty snow that had gathered overnight.

It was one of the too frequent nights when sleep eluded me, in spite of having read until I was in danger of dropping my book.

Robert-cat was curled on the fleecy throw at the foot of my bed and about 1:30 I was alerted to the retching sounds he makes before hoiking up a hairball. 

I heaved him off the bed, but too late, so lights on and padding about to remove the soiled blanket and wipe up the residue on the floor--after having stepped in it bare-footed!

Robert has had a goodly dose of hairball paste this morning and his long black and white fur brushed.

I needed to pick up a refill of my one prescription medicine in the next town, so asked J. if he wanted to go along and stop at Tractor Supply for cat kibble and litter.

Getting out of the car at the pharmacy and again at TSC the wind had a fiercely cold bite.

Another day when walking would have been a misery rather than a joy.

So, home to a mug of tea, welcome warmth within and to my chilled hands.

I returned to my amazon search for pantry storage containers. chose some, and ordered.

There are too many options to consider--a bit like choosing from the many tints and shades of paint!

 I made cream of tomato soup for supper, using a jar of home-canned tomatoes; we ate it with slices of homemade bread toasted.

Desultory days, small necessary tasks accomplished. 

Jim has watched Lonesome Dove and a video of climbers laboring up Mt. Everest.

I watched Kate of The Last Homely House layering a quilt and pinning it ready for her big-stitch hand quilting.

I've looked at the seeds offered by Prairie Moon Nursery--and googled directions for a greenhouse 14 miles away that I've never visited.

And thus are 'the evenings and the mornings' of these late winter days.

Holed Up For the Duration

hole up

Take refuge or shelter

Tomorrow [Friday] marks two weeks since the beginning  of the winter storm. Precipitation has come in layers: freezing rain/sleet, covered with snow that hid what had settled into a precarious sheet of ice. Tiny pellets of snow, large drifting flakes, below freezing temperatures; I feel that the days have slipped by with a befuddling sameness.

Jim brings in extra wood and the main level of the house is cozy. I go downstairs to do laundry, tend the cats' litter box, rummage items from the chest freezer.

 Jim insists on keeping the curtains closed in the large usually welcoming room where my sewing machines and bookcases live. I walk through the unaccustomed dimness to find a book, to gingerly open the back porch door and peer down the expanse of the lower lane and meadow, hoping for evidence of a thawing that hasn't happened.

I braved the lane to the mailbox on Friday morning, needing to post a payment to the water company. Walking through the meadow wasn't a hazard, but when I reached the point where it joined the lane I was of two minds--whether to continue down the slope, past the pond and up to the road or turn around and retreat to the house.

We've had trouble with the water company insisting that our payments don't reach them in time to prevent a late charge--the previous month's check mailed on December 11th but not arriving in their office in town to be posted until December 22. 

I said a prayer and stepped grimly unto the icy lane. The ice/slush mess on the track had been churned by tires, frozen, glassed over. I was able to step onto the verge, actually gripping the ice encrusted wire fence for balance before I had to trust my feet to the narrow expanse of gravel exposed between the frozen ruts. I had brought a walking stick with me, quite useless as the ice pack was too rigid for the stick to pierce.

I made it back up the lane, down the meadow and into the house without a fall, but with the cautionary note received that until we have a warming thaw I won't chance that expedition again!

Sunday, 1st day of February with a reading of 11 F. at 6 a.m. and good reason to return to the warm nest of my bed until 8. 

15 F. by 10:30 a.m. and the welcome surprise of sun casting blue shadows across the gloss of snow. 

The sun made it warm enough to venture walking, bundled in layers of clothing. We made a loop around the upper meadow, cats picking their dainty way behind us. Tracks of small animals--squirrels, possums, birds, embroidered the snow. I had worried that the resident squirrels, if they could remember where nuts were buried, couldn't dig down through the icy crust to retrieve them. Under the hickories that line the upper edges of the north ravine we noted where tiny busy paws had scrabbled through  snow to access the hickory nuts that have lain on top of fallen leaves. 

We made an abbreviated loop of the back lower meadow finding that walking was more difficult there. My right foot encountered a patch of hidden ice and slipped; I didn't fall but the instinctive move to stay upright gave my back a warning tweak.

Jim decided to go inside, but I was so invigorated by sunshine and blue skies that in spite of the cold air  I pottered back around to observe the accomplishments of the pileated woodpecker who spent the weekend bashing at the small cedar visible from the bathroom window. I made another turn around the upper meadow, watched one of the squirrels dash madly up the tree to pop into the nest hole when the crunch of my boots gave the alert. 

The cookie jar was empty and I was prompted to stir up a batch of oatmeal cookies, lavishing a handful of raisins and an extravagant 10 oz package of chocolate chips in the dough. 

I finished the day with an hour of tiny stitches on the applique` project recently resurrected.

I woke Monday with aching bones, resigned to yet another day of below freezing temperatures and dull grey skies. Jim proposed that we do a bit of grocery shopping at the South Fork discount venues and then go on to Liberty to TSC to stock up on cat kibble and litter. 

Main roads clear once the Honda had carefully negotiated the dip of the lane past the pond. 

The days of this prolonged 'cold spell' continue and we are 'holed up' waiting for thaw and release from ice-encrusted surroundings. 

I read, find interesting channels on you tube, cook [homemade spaghetti sauce for pasta] tend the cats, prod at the over-hanging sheets of ice on the porch roof.

There is something quite satisfying to watch slabs of ice plunge to the ground below!

By this morning I felt caged, hemmed in, but mindful of so many who lack the comforts that sustain our family households.

I recalled stories of 'pioneers' snowed in for days in 'soddy houses' or cramped and drafty log cabins. 

When I worked at the quilt shop in Wyoming, a lovely older lady, Audrey, sometimes brought her sewing machine and spent the afternoon with us. Audrey was raised in Nebraska and captivated us with tales of her family huddled in their small house on long dark evenings, a sofa dragged close to the fire, wearing their coats indoors while the endless wind howled outside and sent frigid drafts through the thin walls and ice formed on the inside of window panes.

I've been with Jim in the semi on Nebraska highways in winter, felt the buffeting of the wind, watched snow scudding across flat fields, noted the small white farmhouses and adjacent barns huddled behind a scanty windbreak of trees. 

Who am to protest from the warmth and relative security of a well insulated home that I am tired of winter!

Jim created a path between front porch and woodshed yesterday--and today announced that we could now walk through the barn wing to where he had broken a track across the edge of the garden.

I layered on warm clothes delighted at the opportunity to WALK!

The usual path that circles the field has iced over so our progress was not a leisurely stroll, but more a stomping plod with boots crunching through the meadow grass. 

No matter--it meant fresh air, stretching our legs, a break in our holed up, housebound days!

Caution is still needed; patches of hidden ice lurk, the eaves of house and barn drip creating puddles that quickly freeze. 

Willis and Shelby left the shelter of the front porch and picked their way daintily across the garden to meet us.

Inside to hot tea and cookies, the fire built up for the evening.

I dare to hope that next week will bring the return of the milder weather we've come to expect of a Kentucky winter.

Thimble 'holed up' in the basket that is her current favorite.

Rosie 'holed up' in a cubicle of the cat tower, where she hopes that Thimble won't challenge her.

Squirrel watching remains a delight. 

During the last few days there has been much jostling and shoving at the entrance to the nest, before one of the pair suddenly pushes his way out to flow down the tree trunk or scamper up to launch from the highest branch.

There are two, one a bit smaller and darker furred than the other.

The pileated woodpecker began his drilling on Saturday and continued in a frenzy through Sunday.

An unintentional duplicate of the above photo.

The small cedar has been ringed with drilling.

The woodpecker seems to have abandoned the project after two days of feverish activity, but it may only be that I've not happened to look out the one window from which his worksite can be viewed.