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. 

 

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.