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.