Winter Storm: Day 5

Wednesday sunset.

I pondered how to title this post--we've not seen active storm conditions as in the earlier onslaughts of freezing rain, sleet, snow. Rather, we are in deep cold and the landscape all around is still ice-glazed. 

I tapped gently at an ice encased branch of a hybrid magnolia as I inched past it; the ice held fast, no tinkling fall. 

Walking outdoors is a definite hazard, not only for those of us who qualify as elderly. The top layer of what appears to be snow, is in fact a crust of ice over snow, over a bottom layer of frozen slush. Booted feet slip, crunch, gain traction only to find that the slightest incline down the slope of the dooryard threatens a skid.

Tuesday afternoon I went out the back door with cat litter to dispose of in the usual spot at the edge of the south ravine, well below the house. I had trudged only a few yards when I realized that this wasn't a safe path. I could well end up flat on my back!

I reversed carefully, made my way around the north side of house and barn to the burn pit.

Jim declared yesterday mid-morning [Tuesday] that we should drive to the Appliance Store in town and select a replacement clothes dryer. 

The main road into town was mostly clear although there were patches of black ice. Jim [who has driven thousands of miles cross country in a semi back in the day] is not daunted by winter weather, but allows for inept drivers who, in his opinion, don't know how to drive on ice or snow.

Some effort had been made to scrape the parking area in front of the store, ice melting grit had been strewn in front of the entrance. 

Our purchase quickly settled, arrangements were made for delivery on Thursday, weather conditions permitting.

Wal Mart being next door we went  in for a bag of russet potatoes, a small bag of Honey Crisp apples and a head of celery. Snow had been pushed to one side of the store entrance and frozen in a jagged heap. I took great care maneuvering around it.

Back home Jim drove the car down the slope to the back door, the entrance the delivery men would need to take with their van. He crunched past the porch and up the incline of the lower meadow, turned and came back around. The icy terrain didn't hinder our car, a Honda CR-V, but Jim had reservations concerning the appliance delivery van.

This morning he announced that he would go to town with the Dodge truck and collect the dryer!

Howard phoned as we were eating a late breakfast and announced that he and Shannon were heading into town on errands. He volunteered to retrieve the dryer.

When I noticed his truck coming slowly down the icy lane several hours later I was pleased to note that the dryer was well protected in a  heavy cardboard shipping carton.

Shannon and the dogs kept me company in the kitchen while Jim and Howard dealt with setting up the dryer. 

I had optimistically washed a small load of laundry and happily chucked it all into the dryer. Settings chosen, start knob pushed--nothing happened. 

Jim elbowed in, pushed buttons. Shannon offered help; Howard had heaved himself up from the chilly floor after making sure the unit was leveled. I noticed that while three of us were flapping and fussing around the dryer he was merely rolling his eyes.

I had a sudden brain wave: 'The breaker!' Howard made it first to the breaker box at the foot of the stairs, flipped the correct switch and after another jab at the start knob the dryer obediently began its task.

It was a day of saying 'Duh!' first over the dryer/breaker episode, then for me in my cooking venture of the day.

I stewed two large chicken breasts with the intention of assembling a biscuit-topped chicken/ veg casserole, was well into the process when I realized I didn't have easy makings for the sauce/gravy--no chicken broth or bullion cubes on hand, no canned cream of chicken soup. I tried to extend the broth in which I had cooked the veg, it wasn't quite enough. Shannon assured me it would be okay.

We ate it, and it was hot and tasty, but needed more sauce.

Putting things away in the pantry later I discovered a 4-pack of chicken soup--in plain sight on top of tomato soup cans.

Perhaps these small 'idiot' moments keep us humble!

Why  am I relating all this trivia? Because I realized that being more or less house-bound I'm losing track of what day it is and the mundane recital keeps me better in touch.

I finished stitching on the much-maligned wall hanging this evening. [With help from Thimble-cat.]

I'm not proud of it; my attempted hand quilting is not complimentary to my careful piecing of the blocks. I will launder it tomorrow and doubtless add a photo to this endless recitation of winter days.

 

January Storm: Day 3

Sun breaking through at noon on Monday

Our electric power went off Sunday evening just before complete darkness fell.

We had expected this would happen and had marveled all day that it had not. There were a few warning flickers then the house settled into dusky twilight. 

Jim took a flashlight, went to the shop and tinkered a bit with the generator before trundling it through the crusty snow to the covered back porch.

Frigid air seeped into the lower level and up through the stairwell as he opened the back door. Within minutes he had done whatever must be done at the breaker box and the refrigerators and freezer were functional. I was delighted to find that we had a few ceiling lights working upstairs as well.

I immediately moved a chair to take advantage of the ceiling LED light near the head of the stairs and went on reading. Jim wasn't sure how many hours the generator would run on a tank of gas and not knowing how long an outage we could expect he turned off the generator after about an hour and a half. 

There went my reading light! 

I fussed about with a big candle, an oil lamp, wondering how folks managed ever to do much after dark. Jim propped up a rectangular LED flashlight so that I could finish my chapter.  Off to bed at a mere 9:30 reminding myself that we were warm and snug, that morning would come.

I woke at midnight with light in my face: the electricity had been restored and the light over my desk was surging through my bedroom door.

Monday morning was grey with snowflakes swirling--not freezing rain!

When I checked the outside temp at 9 a.m. it was 14 F. 

Around noon we began to see breaks in the heavy clouds, the snow had stopped. 

We hardly dared believe the sunshine would prevail but it did, creating blue shadows on snow and almost blinding glitter of ice on every tree and shrub. 

I stepped onto the back porch to record the effects of sun, clouds, ice and snow.

Wind struck me, bitterly cold, and I didn't linger.

Winter-shriveled roses and foxglove poking drearily through the crust of snow.

Looking along the edge of the south ravine.

My cat litter dump is tucked down behind the first rim of trees. 

Although I diligently scooped the litter boxes I didn't slide down to the dumping spot.

Later in the afternoon when the westering sun gilded the treetops.

Almost sundown. 

Willis, blinking in the sun that slanted into the front porch.

The outside cats have had extra treats, offerings of warmed milk, larger helpings of tinned food.

Cold or not, Willis and Sally the two oldsters, can be persnickety. Shelby [aka Crabby-cat] will gobble anything put down in front of her and has to be monitored not to harass Willis and Sally.

I decided to wash the fleece throws that have covered the Amish bentwood rockers that usually sit on the porch. We brought the chairs inside Saturday as they got a thorough soaking from blown-in rain.

The indoor cats sniffed and fussed at the blankets until I decided a washing was needed.

I tossed the laundered blankets into the electric dryer, confidently pushed selection buttons--the dryer didn't start.

Jim and I elbowed each other attempting every known method to get the thing going. It has never before needed a reset after a power outage.

Pushed to the back of my mind were several recent warning signals that the dryer was nearing the end of its 16 years of service: cycles that stopped within minutes of starting or conversely went way past the allotted time.

It was a good unit, a Maytag Bravo sized to handle quilts and blankets easily.

I am very over computerized appliances with 'mother boards' or whatever, chips that are manufactured in China or some such place.

I feared that simple dryers with manual controls were no longer available but found that both Lowes and the local Appliance Store carry in stock at least half a dozen models that have a choice of 3 or 4 cycles and temperatures, with simple dial/knob controls.

Several hours of comparisons online and I've made a list of 3 or 4 to look at once the roads are clear and [hopefully] temperatures have moderated later in the week. These are agreeably priced at under $600.

I regularly peg laundry on the back porch clotheslines, especially bedding; often the items require a 15 minute tumble in the dryer to be completely fluffed and dry.

Meanwhile, the armload of damp cat blankets came upstairs to be draped over chairs and the half wall partitions that frame the stairwell.

Polar fleece dries quickly and the small clean blankets have been folded away until the rocking chairs can be returned to the porch.

The sun warmed the afternoon to 20 F--apparently enough to affect the layer of ice on the roof.

Earlier this evening as the frigid temperatures returned we heard a sudden noise--as though something had landed on the roof. We hurried out, flashlights beaming into the cold darkness, but there was nothing to be seen. 

A friend living at the other end of the county had the same experience and sent us a link explaining 'frost quakes' or 'cryoseisms." It seems many area people have heard these quakes as this storm is going through its various iterations of sleet, freezing rain, snow, quick temperature drops.

Always interesting to learn something new, but I could take fresh knowledge without sudden reverberating 'booms.'

 

Sunday; Storm Day 2

Snow began around noon yesterday [Sabbath/Saturday] with temperatures hovering at 16-18 F.

An email popped in notifying me that a small package had been delivered. Rather reluctantly I hauled on layers of outdoor clothes to trudge to the mailbox which stands where the communal lane touches the main road. Jim decided he might as well go along.

It wasn't a pleasant walk! I had layered a hoodie over a silk turtleneck, a flannel shirt and then topped that with a mid-weight winter jacket. Hood string tightened around my face, a scarf, polar fleece gloves, boots. I was still cold. 

The lane runs along the level of the surrounding land before taking a dip past a small pond. Coming back Jim steered us onto the meadow path. The bare hedgerow trees provided a bit of shelter and as we followed the path along the edge of the north ravine the gentle roll of the meadow cut the worst bite of the wind.

Jim topped up the woodbox, trundled in an extra load of wood, leaving the old wheelbarrow parked to the left of the stove.

This delighted Thimble-cat who immediately began clambering among the lengths of 'limb wood' that remained in the barrow.

We took out extra food and blankets for the the three cats who have shelters on the front porch. We ate curried lentil soup and toast, settled in for the blustery evening.

Sometime during the long night the temperature rose to 32F and the snow became a mixture of sleet and freezing rain. 

There are many power outages in the area and we would be surprised if we get through the next several days with the electric, wifi and landline phone still functioning.

I baked two more foil-wrapped russet potatoes that can be sliced and browned in a cast iron skillet on the wood stove if need be.

Wanting to take advantage of the oven I rummaged a few stray apples from the bottom bin of the fridge, sliced them into a 9 inch square pan, added a handful of golden raisins, a generous coating of brown sugar and cinnamon. The 'crisp' topping is flour, rolled oats and shredded coconut blended with softened butter. The house has taken on that nostalgic and homely smell of apples and spice.

I again pulled on layers of winter clothing and boots to slog out with kitchen waste, then crunched along the edge of the garden for a closer look at the big limb that crashed down from a tree bordering the driveway. I saw it go down and supposed if was torn from one of the black walnut trees that lean over the drive as it edges past the south ravine. The branch came instead from a tulip poplar.

I made cautious rounds with my little camera to document day two of the storm. 

The resulting photos are a study in shades of grey.

The fallen limb; note the distinctive tulip-shaped seed  'cups.' 

Small branches and twigs are strewn along the edges of the south ravine; from a distance I can see there is a similar collection outlined on the lower loop of the path.

Along the edge of the south ravine.

A cedar tree behind the north side of the barn, near where kitchen peelings are dumped.

I leave a rag-tag of flower heads in the rough garden strip thinking that winter birds may relish the seeds.

I think these are coneflowers, the seed heads greatly distorted with ice.

Icy branches of the 'Jane' magnolia. 

Wild onion grows everywhere in clumps, winter hardy, pungent in summer whenever lawns or roadway verges are mowed. The green tuffets stand crisp in the frozen slush.

A thorny rose  in the edge of the south-east wall garden, rose hips like black beads, twigs and leaves rigid with ice.

Lastly, a bit skeptical of the sloping path to the edge of the south ravine, I dutifully carried out cat litter.

Underbrush is dense there--burning bush, wild rose brambles, scruffy beech, all clinging to the hillside--a place where only the possums, the raccoons and rabbits dare to travel.

The icy beech leaves provided the only spot of color in the wintery landscape. 

Jim has made himself a plate with a baked potato, warmed up beef strips in gravy, maple glazed carrots.

The good smell of food is too tempting to ignore!

Hand stitching planned for the afternoon and--if the electricity holds--visits to a new you tube channel I've discovered--a gifted woman living in Scotland who lovingly tends a garden, creates quilts and soft furnishings, repurposes old furniture, organizes her pantry, bakes scones. Moments of peaceful sharing--what's not to enjoy!

My late evening reading is a reacquaintance with the Cadfael mysteries. I take them out every second or third winter to enjoy again Ellis Peters' skillful use of words and the subtle irony with which she invests her characters.

However the storm may be impacting you, I wish you warmth, shelter and safety.

 

Weather Watch

A sunny day on Thursday and Jim decided to tackle another of the damaged trees in the area where a former owner's house [mysteriously] burned. This one, a maple, is the 4th to come down.

The tallest tree in the group is the hickory that is perfectly framed in my bedroom window when my head is on my pillow. 

A smaller beech growing to the left of the hickory was damaged in early summer winds; that one was harvested several weeks ago. 

Shelby-cat and I walked down in the chilly dusk of early evening to have a look at the remains of the maple. Rot had moved a fair way up the trunk.

A fire-damaged hybrid magnolia stands nearby. A portion of it had to be cut away last spring, and I noticed tonight how frail the remainder is looking.

It was 40 F and sunny at mid day. By late afternoon clouds moved in. 

We have a thermometer that registers outdoor and indoor temps. By the time I bundled up and decided to walk up the lane to the mailbox and back around the meadow path it was near freezing. It is now [8 pm. EST] 23 degrees--the temperature fell a degree about every 10 minutes after dark.

The three outdoor/barn cats have been offered extra food.

Jim has made beds for them in several places.

A 'condo' of large rubbermaid bins lined with polar fleece blankets and covered over with heavy rugs is against the inside wall of the front porch. Elderly Sally-cat tucks herself into the lower bin. Willis prefers the lined bin in the unheated greenhouse. A sort of igloo cozied with an old down vest is in the woodshed.

An old wicker settee stands on the covered back porch with various rugs and blankets. Shelby-cat often sleeps there in the daytime, but it is exposed to the cold and wind at night. We're not sure where she beds down as she is not very friendly with the two older cats.

I baked four loaves of bread yesterday, today's focus was a kettle of lentil soup, a pan of brownies and two foil-wrapped baked potatoes.

If our area is impacted with the ice that is forecast we are likely to lose electrical power. With our woodstove we will be warm; although it isn't a kitchen range the flat top can accommodate a skillet, saucepan and kettle.

The baked potatoes can be sliced and fried with onions, the soup reheated. Both pantry and the back basement shelves are stocked with a variety of home-canned and purchased vegetables and fruit. Soup, crackers, cheese, apples, frozen beef strips that Jim likes--we could eat well for many days.

During our Vermont years 'ice storms' so called, often took down power lines leaving us without electricity for several days. That meant well pumps were off and no water coming to the taps. Winter storm warnings sent us filling buckets, pitchers, even the bathtub with water to handle toilet flushing and water for cooking. We're on county water here and it miraculously flows in without electricity. Propane cookstoves were more common there than here in Kentucky where most of us have electric ranges.

Our family are country dwellers and feel blessed to have the skills and experience to deal with snow, ice and cold weather. We have deep pantries, warm boots and winter clothing. 

If the power is off for more than a few hours we have generators to keep the essentials going----refrigerators, freezers, a few lights. 

Severe weather here means the internet will go down--what a deprivation!

I have books, some hand sewing. Jim would miss the endless documentaries he watches when not actually outside working or in his shop.

Church is cancelled. I hope common sense would advise that slithering about on our roads that wind  along the ridges and plunge down into the 'hollers' is not an option.

If frigid weather should prevail for a week I might begin to experience 'cabin fever'

but I'm willing to spend the next few cold days inside, tucked up with a book, the cats and a mug of tea.

I leave you with the photos of my near dusk walk-about.

 

Seen/Unseen

They are seldom very far away. 

'They' being the squirrels, wild turkeys, deer, the great blue herons, even the elusive foxes. There are birds who swoop through the dooryard, landing in the hybrid magnolias, [juncos, sparrows, nuthatches] others who come in groups to peck at the gravel beyond the front steps; a small 'murder' of crows strut up and down the drive, stride into the garden plot to pluck at the short spears of winter wheat providing a cover crop. 

Bluebirds sway on the power lines, fall down the chimney in springtime, bash at their reflections in windows and car mirrors. 

In late summer goldfinches appear, flashing through the leaning heavy heads of sunflowers, gleaning and gorging until an early autumn storm [or Jim's tractor] flattens the woody stalks. 

Until it toppled in heavy wind two summers ago, a tall jagged spear of a tree trunk, branchless and stripped of bark, attracted a variety of woodpeckers and flickers.

Now they hammer at trees standing deeper in the brushy edges of the ravines. 

The deer are most often seen browsing at the lower end of the property where the ravines move in steeply to enclose on three sides an area of grass and moss. Occasionally they appear in the upper meadow, stepping daintily past the garden, freezing for a second on alert for my stealthy approach, before bounding, tails flicking, to fade into the underbrush.

Hummingbirds zooming around the feeders, a cardinal brilliant against the grey of a winter's day; Canadian geese in a wavering 'V' beating their way across the sky, a sketch of sandhill cranes in migration trailed by the echo of their harsh cries. All have their time in the endless turning of the year.

I often stand at a window, seemingly witless or lost in thought, but in reality always scanning  the landscape close by and as far as my sight can reach, alert for the motion of a branch, a scurrying form, the movement of some creature as yet unaware of my watchfulness. 

Sometimes I wonder: how often do they, the creatures, observe me as I go about my chores outside?

I'm clumsy with cameras, lacking the patience to develop skill with a model having the capability for clear zoom shots or detailed close-ups. By the time I've focused on the squirrel perched above the tree hole, or lined up with a parade of turkeys, they have sensed my bumbling presence and scampered, flown, bounded--out of reach and sight.

There remains a lifetime of images imprinted in memory: the red fox loping across the snow-covered west meadow, seen from a window as I took my jacket from its hook in my childhood home;  the great-horned owl hooting at me from the depths of a shag-bark hickory; a woodchuck happily chomping green beans from the very row where I knelt picking; a snipe with her clutch of babies tumbling stilt-legged around my booted feet; a raccoon peering at me between cupped paws when I turned on the porch light at midnight. So many more, caught and framed in memory from different years and different places. 

If the inclination to mindfulness of surroundings, awareness of life moving half-hidden around us is an attribute taught or passed on, I can thank my Dad and my maternal grandfather, both men who were attuned to and often remarked on the natural settings, the wildlife, the seasons, that made up their closely familiar landscapes. 

I like to think that I've passed on something of that enrichment of awareness and appreciation to my own children and grandchildren. 

There are definitely a pair of squirrels spending the winter in the tree hole. They were busy there this morning, popping in and out, but each time I tried to creep up on them for a closer look they either ducked back into the tree or bounded down the hill through the underbrush.

I tried a round about approach but the squirrel who had been at the foot of the tree was wary.

Bare trees sketched against a blue winter sky. Welcome sunshine but the air has a bite.

 

Tree Holes and a Furry Face

Grey squirrels share our homestead property, likely several related families who have staked out particular groups of trees along the edges of the north and south ravines. Oak, hickory, black walnut and a few smaller beech trees provide ample supplies of nuts for winter storage. 

The black walnuts along the curve of the driveway are the first to begin falling. We have marveled to see squirrels lugging these large nuts to the edge of the tilled garden spot, scrabbling their treasure into the soft soil, scampering back for another.

Surely there is easier foraging when the acorn 'caps' have loosened and the segmented brown shells of the hickories have fallen away to expose the round white nuts, which lie in rich profusion along the east boundary hedgerow and litter the paths that run along the edges of the wooded ravines. 

Several weeks before Christmas I came upon a squirrel so intent on stashing acorns that he/she didn't notice my approach until I was a few feet away. The astonished creature dropped the prize nut and ran at speed to disappear in the underbrush.

Drying my hands before the north-facing bathroom window I often see a pair of squirrels swinging through the now bare branches of the trees; I marvel at the leaps that carry them from one high branch to an adjacent tree. In summertime their presence is less obvious, a flash of grey tails and the shaking of leaves tracking their gymnastics. 

Visible from the kitchen window is this tree that stands a few yards below the spot where I dump kitchen waste. The neatly rounded hole is the entrance to what appears to be a sizeable cavity, protected and snug. When two squirrels are playing in the area it becomes a hidey hole in a game of hide and seek.

 Today, washing up the dishes from the cats' 'tea' I noted a squirrel popping in and out of the hole.

Finding jacket and scarf, tucking my little camera in my pocket I closed the door quietly and tried to saunter nonchalantly along the path as though I had no awareness of the lurking squirrel. 

He/she spotted me and whisked into the hole.

I moved closer settling myself to lean against a nearby tree trunk, adjusted the zoom on my camera and positioned it for a good view of the hole. 

If you look closely at the lower left edge of the hole in the above photo you will see that a cautious curiosity is moving the squirrel closer to the opening.

A little head is visible. 

And there we are!

This is as good as it gets with my simple camera at the extent of the zoom lens.

Note the bright eyes, the tiny ears and the pink nose.

I have friends with wonderful high definition cameras, sophisticated skills in using them and perhaps more patience than I can muster to wait for a perfect shot.

Still, time spent in squirrel stalking is a delight!

So lovely outside with sunshine, blue sky and almost no wind, a rare day to enjoy being outside.

I walked the perimeter of the acreage, stopping to admire other tree holes and wonder what creatures might make use of them for shelter and nesting.

I had to clamber through a tangle of wild rose briars to avoid my own shadow for this shot.

An old oak near the east boundary fence. I wonder if limbs were removed when the tree was younger allowing these cavities to hollow out.

The base of this tree is so hollowed there is only a shell left to support bole and branches.

Could it be an abandoned hobbit house?

A niche for a giant's key.

Willis made the rounds with me, stopping to sniff and rub in a tangle of roots and leaves. 

I hope that my squirrel watching doesn't influence Willis and his minions. 

We seldom make a move outdoors that we aren't shortly joined with the outdoor cats.

Back in the house, preparing supper for Jim I found I kept glancing out the kitchen window, focusing on the squirrel tree, watching for a scurrying form, a flicking tail. 

Perhaps with evening coming on, the cheeky pair were already tucked up in their snug nest. 

 

December Retrospective

We woke to a light skim of snow on December 2nd. Temperatures in mid 30's all day.

Thimble-cat to vet clinic for treatment of a persistent respiratory issue.

We opted for a time-released antibiotic injection. She improved over several days but began snuffling again by Dec. 10th. Back to the clinic on the 12th and a course of oral meds prescribed which, thankfully, she consumed each morning with a dollop of 'gourmet entree.'

Off the meds on the 21st and thus far symptom free. 

Jim drove us to the clinic for the second visit. On the return trip Thimble became quite vocal so I took her out of the cat carrier and set her on my lap. She balanced with her front paws against the side window, very intent on the passing scenery. 

As we drove slowly past the pond near the top of the lane several dozen birds flew up, over the fence and settled in the adjoining field. Thimble was enthralled, and we were surprised to see that it was a flock of kildeers, unusual in such numbers and at this season.

Dec. 9

Cold but sunny, a fitting day to peg sheets on the back porch lines. 

A glowing sunrise, but as on many days this month the sunny promise was not sustained through the day.

 Jim felled a leaning beech which had the real potential of coming down on the power lines.

Prior owners of this property had a house tucked down where the land narrows into the western boundary. The house was destroyed in a [suspicious] fire several years before we bought the acreage. Nearby trees were fire-damaged, several have toppled. Jim keeps an eye on them now planning to harvest any that aren't sturdy. I liked the little beech, bent and leaning, watching each autumn for the appearance of the small beech nuts.

The stump of the tree showing the interior rot that was causing its instability.

A flock of pigeons settled beyond my car in the TSC parking lot.

We don't make a thing of Christmas shopping now that children and grandchildren are grown, however I was inspired to shop at TSC for gifts of dog and cat food. I got well acquainted with the cats at Howard's house when we fed them daily during his absence. Shannon brought 2 dogs with her when she moved to be with her Dad, making a household of four dogs. While I don't want a dog of our own again, I enjoy these 'grand-dogs' when they stop by, and it amused me to buy food for 'the friendly beasts.' I collected cat kibble and tinned food at TSC, then a quick visit to Kroger for a big bag of carrots to treat the horse, Dixie, and on to the Amish feed store at South Fork for dog food. 

That venture became a bit dicey when, burdened with the very slippery 30 lb bag of kibble, I found that two people were standing to chat, blocking the narrow walkway above the steep metal stairs that lead from the loading platform to the parking area below. I suppose I should have loudly exclaimed, 'Excuse me, please,' or 'Could I get by you?' but I kept thinking the chatty pair would realize I was trapped behind them. By the time they moved on, the sack of kibble was sliding onto my knees and I was thankful to get off the stairs without landing on my face.

This sassafras tree near the top of the lane has delighted me in all seasons. 

Early in autumn the power company sent tree trimming crews throughout the county lopping limbs that encroached on the overhead lines. I understand why these measures are taken; we've learned that power outages occur with any severe storm of wind and rain.

Still, I am mourning the mutilation of this tree, its shapely upper branches gnawed off, its symmetry spoiled. 

Throughout November a parade of four turkeys was an almost daily event. I hadn't seen them in December, but as I was making my bed on the morning of December 22, Thimble, who was 'assisting' me, suddenly leaped to the windowsill, tail twitching. There were six turkeys processing majestically down the path beneath the hickories. They turned by the little barn and paced across the open ground to disappear over the edge of the south ravine. 

A hasty photo aimed through the screened window serves to record their visit. 

On a particularly dark afternoon I rummaged through a stash of 3 1/2" squares lingering from long ago projects. On a whim I made hot dish mats for Howard and Shannon's kitchen.

Howard's birthday was the 22nd and I prepared a supper of lasagna and meatballs with a tossed salad and green beans, pineapple upside-down cake for dessert. 

As usual, I forgot to record the event with photos.

Shannon shared this one of Howard with her Siberian Husky, Layla Jane--who has now decided that 'Grampy Howard' is a soft touch.

I was ready to toss this planter of African Violets raised from cuttings several years ago. 

I refreshed the potting soil and kept them downstairs under lights and they have rewarded me with exuberant winter bloom.

Our Christmas celebration was low-key but enjoyable. Instead of a traditional feast with all the trimmings we decided on something simple. Howard brought his specialty of turkey cooked in a 'fryer,' Matt and Gina arrived laden with Waldorf salad, strawberry/chocolate chip bread, a variety of dips, chips and sauces; I provided a big pot of lentil soup, a tray with cheeses, crackers, and raw veg. Jim's cousin's daughter and her daughters drove up from Tennessee bringing a big tray of delectable fresh fruit and an offering of homemade cookies. Dessert was the two pies I made on Christmas Eve, lemon meringue and lemon icebox. 

With everything cleared away and the company dispersing just before the early dusk, I had time to make a quick loop around the meadow, the outdoor cats, Willis and Shelby, trailing behind.

December has felt a bit blurred--the weather hasn't been memorably pleasant.

My doctor ordered a three week course of double the usual dose of blood thinner I've taken since the DVT episode in 2021. There were several side effects to this--increased fatigue made me feel heavy and stupid, and I've learned the hard way that the meds must be taken in careful timing with food or the resulting stomach pain is a misery.

In a lifetime with few serious illnesses and no long term reliance on meds [prior to the DVT] I find that I'm not very patient with the things that are probably going to increasingly plague me in old age. 

My discomfort [and some worrying] hasn't been visible to others; I've bumbled through whatever needed done. I do sometimes wonder: if I resorted to bleating and feeling loudly sorry for myself, would I really appreciate any sympathy I might gain? Probably not! 

I think of January as a time to regroup, to finish projects started and to consider new ones. The long dark evenings are conducive to reading, both for pleasure and instruction. I'll be noting the incremental return of daylight, hoping for mild afternoons to finish the pruning that was curtailed by inclement weather in November and December. 

There are always the desultory tasks of keeping house, errands, unexpected demands on time and energy. In a world of uncertainties, where so many are lacking in the simplest of creature needs, I want to be mindful of my many blessings and the choices that each new day offers.