Snow Day

The More It Snows

The more it snows (Tiddely pom),

The more it goes (Tiddely pom),

The more it goes (Tiddely pom),

On snowing.

And nobody knows (Tiddely pom),

How cold my toes (Tiddely pom),

How cold my toes (Tiddely pom),

Are growing.

~~A. A. Milne  (The House at Pooh Corner)

Note:  Pooh invents and sings this Outdoor Hum for Snowy Weather in The House at Pooh Corner (Chapter One, In Which A House Is Built at Pooh Corner for Eeyore). 

From Wikipedia: Alan Alexander Milne (18 January 1882 – 31 January 1956) was an English writer best known for his books about the teddy bear Winnie-the-Pooh, as well as children's poetry. Milne was primarily a playwright before the huge success of Winnie-the-Pooh overshadowed his previous work. He served as a lieutenant in the Royal Warwickshire Regiment in the First World War and as a captain in the Home Guard in the Second World War. Milne was the father of bookseller Christopher Robin Milne, upon whom the character Christopher Robin is based.

Milne stopped writing children's books, and especially about Winnie-the-Pooh, as he felt "amazement and disgust" over the immense fame his son was exposed to, and said that "I feel that the legal Christopher Robin has already had more publicity than I want for him. I do not want CR Milne to ever wish that his name were Charles Robert."

Milne's poems and stories were a staple of my childhood; I read from the battered books to my own children with the result that Gina and I can insert phrases from Winnie-the-Pooh into conversation, a sort of 'insider' language from a pre-Disney era. 

Was it perhaps the influence of these often read pieces that instilled my preference for an English, as opposed to thoroughly American, mode of expression? 

Having 'hummed' my way through morning chores and welcomed the noonday sun, I had best go downstairs to my sewing, having set the heat at a frugal 68 F. an hour ago.

When I opened the front door at 7:30 a.m. to usher Robert-cat into the morning, the snow-covered porch steps were etched with the evidence of early visitors, most likely the intrepid Titmice who swoop in to pick bits of kibble from the barn cats' tray.

I layered in hood, jacket, boots and gloves to wallow up the lane to the mailbox at 10:30. The wind was bitter and I quickly gave up any thought of coming back via the upper meadow track. 

Cat litter duties tended and back inside.

 Willis and Sally who have been lured from the porch to reconnoiter as far as the woodshed, stepping daintily on Jim's freshly swept path.

The 'woodpecker stump' lost its footing on February 8th during the season of heavy rain and wind.

I've not seen the pileated woodpeckers since, though a smaller Downy flits among the upper branches of the tulip poplars and hickories that line the north ravine. 

The bricks, cleared of snow, will soon provide warmth to furry bottoms.

Yesterday, in advance of the snow, robins bounced across the back field, bluebirds teetered on the power line. 

Today juncos, titmice and an assortment of sparrows swoop in, land and peck, rising in a cloud if I open the door yet are undeterred by the sleepy presence of the two barn cats. 

Willis and Sally, aided by Robert and his late brothers on their daily forays, quickly decimated the population of chipmunks, made inroads on the squirrel tribes, so it hasn't seemed fair to put out feeders.

A few hours of mid-afternoon sunshine before the sky reverted to cloudy.

Unlike the winter snows of remembered years in New England and Wyoming, in Kentucky a 'snow scene' such as this is short-lived.

Fine with me--I'm ready for spring!

Moving into February

Photo taken January 30 as rain moved in after several days of sunshine to round out a cold and cloudy month. 

Warmer temps and bright blue skies have not yet dried the squelchy ground left from a pounding deluge on the 31st.

The air this morning had a slightly different scent, not of spring, but with a promise of something milder and more hopeful than entrenched winter.

No wind stirred through leafless branches; there was a waiting stillness.

Midmorning a pale shaft of sunlight crept tentatively across the floor, retreating within moments.

When I walked to the mailbox at 2 the sky was sullen, a murky greyness hovering, an east wind sending chilly fingers beneath my hood.

Yesterday, in brilliant sunshine, wearing a tattered flannel shirt as an outer layer, I began pruning, a task usually undertaken in November, forestalled then by days of rain.

I began with the Knock-out Roses on the east retaining wall. These had a less than thriving summer of 2024; I hope I can encourage them this year. The ungainly sage was trimmed back, as was the mat of marjoram which has spread out of bounds.

The sun-warmth was encouraging  on my back when I moved to the west side of the house.

Willis-cat followed me there sprawling on a slab of rock, as usual perilously close to where I was wielding the pruning snippers.

I hacked away at the rose bushes, cut away a tangle of twiggy vines from clematis Jackmanii, noting the tiny stubs of new growth in the joints of brittle stems.

Lastly, with Willis shifting a bit nearer, I sat on the wooden curbing of the raised bed and snapped off  tall dry stems of monarda. Already there is a fragrant mat of tiny 'bee balm' plants hunkered down against the cold soil. 

Several trips to fling brush and twigs over the edge of the south ravine; a walk about the dooryard, tired by now and noting how very much 'wants done.' Line-dried laundry bundled in from the back porch, the bergamot scent of monarda clinging to my clothes and hair reminding me that a mug of Earl Grey would be welcomed. 

Jim, tired of winter confinement, welcomed the sun on January 27 by cutting down a damaged oak tree at the lower end of the property. 

This is the area where a former owner's house burned, badly scorching several of the nearby trees, compromising their longevity. Power poles and transmitters add to the need for careful precision in dropping a tree.

I approached carefully once the tree was horizontal.

You can see the slow rot undermining the oak.

Several more trees suffered similar wounds from the fire, including a hybrid magnolia. Looking at that one today I wonder how many more seasons it can survive and bloom as the main trunk is badly scarred.

After wrestling with stale gasoline in both chainsaw and wood splitter, the wood harvest has been reduced to conveniently sized 'chunks' and trucked up the lane to be stashed in the woodshed.

Willis and I, trudging the path along the edge of the meadow, have admired the work of the resident pileated woodpecker.

I crept around the edge of the shop/garage to take this zoom shot of the bird bashing away at the tree.

His woodworking was accomplished in a matter of days.

Willis, posing, slit-eyed at the base of the woodpecker tree.

With the last of the huge quilts bound and delivered I turned to a project long overdue--a set of placemats and mug mats [coasters] for daughter Gina who has a long love affair with vintage red and white kitchen accessories. I purchased the fabrics as a 'fat quarter bundle' while in Wyoming. You can see my efforts to make use of every last scrap. I was able to find similar red check and a cherry print to finish.

Mug mats.

Photo credit: Gina. She has a 'thing' about stains on pretty placemats, so they go under a clear vinyl tablecloth.

I can create the components, but haven't much of a gift for 'styling' or arranging.

That can safely be left in Gina's creative hands.

So, there is the record of life leading into February [the bits that are suitable for sharing!]

I've had a nibble of Wensleydale cranberry cheddar, crackers and still nursing a mug of tea as I type.

I turned on the heat downstairs an hour ago, so no excuses--Thimble-kitten and I will tackle the current sewing project.