Weather Journal Reprise, Normal Weather Resumes

Teasel in the cat yard on Friday, enjoying the warmer weather.

Friday would have passed muster as a 'normal' day of January weather.

The dooryard was squelchy, the lane to the barn muddy.

Pebbles greeted me with the exuberance of a much younger horse, kicking up her heels, plunging along the fence, tail lifted, head up.  She slid into the lean-to, blowing, farting, stomping her front feet.

I spread her hay, dished out kibble to the barn cats.

I allowed the fireplace stove to go out late on Thursday, and set the furnace thermostat to a conservative 68 degrees. I needed a break from carrying in wood.

This would be my last full day on my own.

I considered the things I had hoped to accomplish during a week when I didn't need to keep a schedule of meals or adjust my bedtime to J.'s

.

I meant to write several long letters. I hoped to create at least a rough draft of a neighborhood history project for which I began the research nearly two years ago. 

[The above sounds very self-important--its merely something which struck my fancy.]

I thought I would sew--and I did finish about 2 dozen small and simple patchwork blocks, working at my sewing machine while I kept the downstairs wood stove churning out heat.

My hand applique project languished in it's box by my rocking chair.

I read only in short sleepy intervals when I sat near the fire to be warmed.

With the best part of a day 'free' I found I was too unsettled and unfocused [possibly too tired?] to attempt any of the above.

I drove to the charity shop and had a desultory poke around. Two other shoppers were accompanied by toddlers who kept up a dismal wailing and roaring.

I left after a good rummage with two pair of dress slacks and a long flannel nightshirt.

I stopped at the Wal Mart next door thinking I would buy avocados and such for the salad I had craved.

In the middle of the produce section a vendor was loudly demonstrating some wondrous gadget and I had to detour around the throng of enthralled on-lookers.

The entire bin of avocados when reached were hard and green.

Instead of salad, I came home with a pair of wooly tights!

The afternoon whiled away in thickening grey clouds.

My son phoned earlier than usual.

After talking with him I managed to write one letter!

Deciding that a relatively early bedtime was in order I turned out the lights at eleven.

Within moments shafts of lightning flashed through the bedroom shutters; thunder banged and rattled, rain pelted the roof in torrents.

I remembered that Charlie-cat had demanded 'out' earlier in the evening.

When I opened the door into the carport he rushed in, mildly wet, complaining.

Standing at the sliding doors looking out at the lashing branches, watching the shimmer of lightning on rapidly forming puddles, I suddenly saw a slim tiger cat hurrying along between the nearest maple tree and the 

cat yard fence.

With a jolt I turned to verify that our two 'tigers', Willow and Willis, were inside.

Yet another stray feral cat looking for shelter and a bite to eat?

Could it [impossibly] be Wilbur, the surly boy who refused to use the litter box? I turfed him out over a year earlier intending to feed him in the barn. We never saw him again.

I returned to bed, tried to settle.

The thunderstorm ebbed into the distance, then returned to bang and rumble.

This cycle repeated in varying force until nearly 4 A.M.

The ringing of the phone a few hours later woke me; J. with our daughter and son-in-law, expected to be off the cruise ship shortly and headed to the airport. 

'Do you have a cold?' inquired J. 'You sound stuffy.'

'I don't have a cold,' I replied, knowing that I sounded sleepy, stuffy and rather stupid.

[I refused to admit that the phone call had caught me still in bed at nearly 8 o'clock!]

The day was mostly cloudy, a chilly wind whipping about, a watery sunset.

I found that I missed the fire.  The furnace was keeping the house at the modest level of heat I had chosen, but without the friendly presence of the living room fire a familiar comfort was lacking.

I crumpled newspaper, laid in twigs, carefully arranged slender bits of kindling and set a match to it.

As the flames caught and grew I added first small 'limb wood', then settled a seasoned  chunk of oak in place.  As the heat crept into the room, the cats assembled on the hearth rug and I settled happily into my rocking chair.

D. appeared, speculating on how soon his parents would arrive home--not wanting at 19 to admit that he had missed them.

He rummaged in the fridge, taking out the remains of shepherd's pie, cutting slices from a loaf of bread.

The boy cats gathered round, wanting him to entertain them.

Fueled by an inhalation of catnip, they leaped and twirled trying to snatch the cloth mouse 

dangled from a string.

Moments after D. left  J. was suddenly here, startling me.

He relayed the highlights of the family trip, flicked through the photos on his camera, ate a sandwich.

He listened to my tales of record cold weather from the vantage point of one who spent those days in the tropics.  He loaded wood into the fire, bumbled along to the bedroom.

When I went in a scant 10 minutes later he was asleep, the light still on.

Sunday morning: frost sparkle, sunshine, mist rising from Big Creek.

 A mellow day, crisp and clear.

M. and G. walked in as we finished a hearty mid-morning breakfast, come to collect their vehicle.

G. has not regained her land legs after the pitching motion of the ship.

M. and J. didn't suffer that lack of balance.

J.'s laundry done, clean shirts and trousers returned to the closet.

I've sorted his photos onto my PC, then transferred them to his laptop, shared them on Face Book in the family album.

J. tinkered about outside for a bit, then came in, thumped into his recliner.

He has been watching Netflix--with his eyes closed.

We are neither of us seething with ambition!

For me, the week past seems a blur--long hours devoted to keeping the house warm, the horse watered, few hours of sleep.

I've been tediously journaling these days and nights--not in the sense of providing a fascinating report, but in the hope that looking back, re-reading, the week will belatedly sort itself into a more coherent memory.

[I went back and replied to the comments on the previous post--sorry for the delay. Comments are always a pleasure.]

Day 4 of the Weather Journal, Mid-Afternoon

I am in danger of falling asleep at my desk.

I was in bed slightly before midnight,

A few minutes before 6 A.M. the usual cat shenanigans started.

'Be quiet!' I snarled, not raising my head from the pillow.

Skitter, scrabble, a tinny clatter as some small object was shoved from my dresser.

Swinging out of bed I roared, 'Nellie!' and reached the light switch in time to see Nellie scoot beneath the dust ruffle while his brothers made a dash for the hall, not wishing to be registered as accomplices.

All three crowded at the sliding door no doubt sensing that a reconnoiter of the dooryard would not this morning freeze their paws.

I shoved a chunk of wood in the living room stove and went grumpily back to my bed.

I didn't want to start the day, nor did I want to fall into that troubled dawn sleep that usually ends when a thunderclap sounds in my skull, jolting me awake.

[The crash is silent as the proverbial tree which falls in the woods without a human hearer to define the sound.

I think its called 'exploding head!']

I lay curled under the quilts, reviewing muzzily those items which are not 'worries' but are cached in the mental file of 'chronic concerns.'

Rolling over to glare at the digital clock--a few minutes after 7-- I thumped along to the bathroom and stood under the shower, brief and hot.

Dress in shabby warm clothes, feed cats their tinned treat, set coffee to perk.

[I became a coffee drinker at some point after I turned 50--the one morning cup has become a habit I can take or leave.]

I huddled in my rocking chair taking a weary assessment of myself.

I was aware of the fine persistent 'thrumming'--is it in muscles? nerves? bones?--which is the usual result of prolonged physical effort.

I considered what it might be like to simply vegetate--stay in my chair and read.

I glanced around at various pockets of disorder--large, over-flowing pockets, if truth be told.

It is difficult to sit still and ignore Things That Should Be Done!

I sighed, told myself to quit being dramatic, pulled on my outdoor clothes and boots.

First order of the day: deal with the horse water tub.

Not much water remained in the tub after D. heaved out the huge chunks of ice.

There was only a skin of ice there and it broke apart when I gave a poke.

I wondered if the tub was frozen to the ground.  On the first tentative shove it seemed so.

I rolled under the fence, heaved at the side of the tub.  Over it went, spilling splinters of ice and dirty water.

Into the shop for the long-handled brush J. uses to wash vehicles. Into the house for a 

bucket of soapy water.

The tub still has a rim of stain which would need a more determined scouring with a stiffer brush, but it is cleaner than it was.

J. leaves the water hose stretched out along the slope of the back lawn so it can drain in cold weather.

[He installed a frost-free hydrant near the water tub two years ago. In October while we were in Tennessee, Pebbles used it as a scratching post and broke it.  Resulting water loss before it was discovered by M. was 100 dollars!]

I found the end of the hose and began pulling it round. It was flexible until about 10-15 feet from the faucet, at which point it lay in the heaviest shade from the north corner of the house.

Decades ago in Vermont the retro-fitted water pipes beneath our 150 year old farmhouse froze regularly in winter. I remembered that J. crawled about in the confines of the frigid space with rags and the teakettle which had been simmering all night on the wood stove.

In the kitchen I filled a bucket with hot water from the tap, piled in a collection of clean rags kept for messy jobs. It required two buckets of hot water, my whole stash of rags to wrap the frozen length of hose. 

The last bit ran behind a large shrub [viburnum? I always forget] and its twiggy branches pulled hair loose from my braid as I crawled clumsily about.

On my feet again I was preparing to fetch another bucket of hot water when I heard the faintest of tinkling sounds. Sure enough--water was swirling into the horse tub!

Pebbles has been twice to her clean tub to slurp up fresh water.

Indoors at noon, divested of boots and insulated bibs, ashes taken out, wet rags and other bits of laundry chugging in the washing machine.

I took out a package of ground beef that needed cooking, assembled the ingredients for shepherds' pie, one of the few dishes I make using prepared items: canned mushroom soup for the sauce, canned corn for the veg and [horrors!] instant mashed potato kept only for that purpose.

As I chopped onions, added spices to the beef in the skillet, I considered this is surely one of the times I would like to come indoors from hard labor and find that someone had a delicious meal ready to serve.

I pondered what I would request in such an unlikely circumstance.

A salad, made with a mixture of fresh greens, with small cherry tomatoes, bite-size pieces of broccoli, Greek olives, a mere crumbling of feta cheese, avocado in sickle-thin slices, delicate vinaigrette.

French onion soup served in a brown ramekin, dark and steaming, with a round of crusty bread and cheese floated on top.

Opening tins, stirring ground beef, I warmed to this pleasant fantasy.

No entree needed.

Let's move to dessert.

Something light and decadently rich, dark chocolate, mounds of whipped cream.

Oh well.

I layered the shepherds' pie in two casseroles: a small one to sustain me for the next 2 days, a larger one to stash in the freezer.

Darkness has fallen early. The temperature holds at 40 F.

 I've moved 4 of the rosemarys to their usual place on the front porch.

The 5th and smallest one, always more delicately branched,  looks as though it had been dried by the wind--whether unto death I'm loathe to declare.

The cats are all inside, slumbering in furry heaps.

I washed and dried all their blankets which cover the furniture.

I should like the imaginary 'someone' to fetch me tea:  fragrant brew in a fat pot on a tray--slices of lemon, a flowery cup and saucer, dainty cookies.

Since that's an impossible dream I'm about to put the kettle on and slice some lemon bread.

I've not had time to respond to comments, but am most appreciative of my friends in faraway places who have been cheering me on through the freezing weather.

Thank You!

Weather Journal, Day 3

Out of bed about 6:30. Cats clamoring, house chilly, but not dreadfully cold.

Decided to keep downstairs fire going as there was a nice heap of glowing orange coals.

The usual, feed cats, make my coffee, stoke the upstairs fire.

Bed spread up smoothly--the covers are barely disturbed when I'm the only one sleeping there.

The battery for the new camera was charged, so went out to the porch to record the sunrise.

Horse fed and pilled. [I feel quite smug that I'm getting the meds down her, stuffing the pill into a 

slit in half a carrot!]

Sloshed two buckets of hot water onto the layer of ice in the watering trough, gave a few half-hearted bashes that opened only a tiny hole.

Juncos bobbing about in the driveway, clustering in the redbud tree, watched by Bobby and Nellie.

The camera's zoom captured a junco.

Bobby McGee walks with his shadow.

The tortie girls were waiting for me in the barn entrance.

This is the south exposure and I often find the barn cats there on a sunny day.

Can you see this giant clod of ice in the center of the photo?

Grandson D. attacked the water tub ice late this afternoon, using a large hammer.

He then wrestled the chunks of ice out of the tub using a big shovel.

The ice was even thicker than I imagined.

Pebbles, just before sundown, at her tub, surrounded by icebergs!

Tomorrow the temps should be in the 40's F.

I'm hoping I can clean out the tub, deal with the water hose.

I'm a bit wary of turning on the outside faucet--

[For those who may be new readers I should perhaps mention that ordinarily these outdoor chores don't fall to me.

J. is away with three of his siblings and an assortment of the younger generation--trip planned well in advance of the great January freeze.]

Mid-afternoon I went downstairs, determined to work on the small quilt for which I appliqued the center panel while visiting our niece at the end of October.

I needed the quilting book which was nowhere to be found.

While I'm not the tidiest soul, I can usually locate my books and crafting supplies rather handily.

The book wasn't where I thought I had left it.

I rummaged.

My attitude is often that if I keep poking about where the object in question should be, I'll miraculously lay hands on it.

In frustration I went through the basket of magazines by my rocking chair, neatly organized weeks ago.

Finally I sat downstairs by the fire, cudgeling my brains, feeling time slip away.

At such times I am literally praying to recall what I have done with my belongings!

Sitting there, staring around the room, something 'clicked.'

Sure enough, the book had been pushed off the stack on the end of the tall cupboard and was caught between cupboard and wall.

Snatching up the book I had a memory of Nellie, sprawled on top of the cupboard the last time I was at the sewing machine.

It is his favorite place to keep me company and he usually manages in his stretching and turning to send something onto the floor.

I stitched small hourglass patches until weariness overtook me.

I'm allowing the downstairs fire to go out tonight.

I've stocked the fireplace stove.

I've had a bedtime snack of hot milk and a hard boiled egg with maple pepper.

Tomorrow the weather will return to something more common for January in south-central Kentucky.

Cold Weather Journal, The Second Day

Wild horses, Muddy Gap, Wyoming, 2007

I am nearly too tired to write.

That sounds rather pitiful, sadly dramatic.

A bit after midnight I realized I was winding down from my second 18 hour stretch of being awake and busy.

Standing by the fireplace I changed into nightgown and robe.

I made a mug of hot milk spiked with a pinch of ginger and a dollop of honey.

Easing into my rocking chair I faced the unwelcome, but not unfamiliar awareness of having pushed my limits to the edge of physical stamina.

I couldn't concentrate on the book open in my lap.

I blundered downstairs to stuff yet another chunk of wood in the downstairs fire, turned off lights, wobbled along to my bed.

Turning my face into the pillow I reviewed the long hours of stoking fires, carrying wood, smashing ice in the horse trough, lugging buckets of water to offer the horse, who spurned this refreshment.

Thankfully I tumbled into sound sleep before self-pity swamped me!

I woke at 6:15 with the sense that I hadn't stirred for hours.

Feet poked into chilly slippers, wrapped in a fleece robe, I checked first on the downstairs fire.

A deep bed of coals and the room still passably warm except for the drought that billowed in from the open door to the back hall.

I loaded in wood, trudged back up to the fireplace stove.

That also held glowing coals, though the room felt chilly and unwelcoming.

The cats milled about--sure that it was breakfast time.

I considered dressing, feeding the cats, starting my day.

It was too dark and cold to go outside and batter at the ice in the horse's water tub.

I scuttled back to the bedroom ignoring the pleading indignation of the felines.

I came awake again at 8:45, saw sunlight squeezing through the closed interior shutters.

I hastily pulled on sweatpants, yesterday's shirts and socks. I was setting out cat dishes when a glance through the sliding doors registered Pebbles standing by the water tub.

Abandoning the cats, I yanked on my insulated bibs and my warm boots, ran hot water into a bucket.

Pebs had moved away from the tub and was licking snow as I dashed steaming water over the solid ice.

I picked up the implement J. had been using to crack the ice and gave a ringing blow.

The metal bounced on the ice sending a judder  through my wrist and up to my shoulder, down my spine. Several more blows had the same effect on me while the ice remained unscathed.

I fetched another bucket of hot water and rummaged in J.'s shop for a heavier tool.

I found a heavy, long-handled splitting hammer, so heavy that I could barely lift it to shoulder height to swing down in a mighty thwack against the ice. Several more attempts and I had gained only a small 

opening in the ice.

Muscles protested.

Pebbles sauntered over, spluttered in the warmish water which swirled, now cooled, against the layer of ice.

Temporarily defeated, I walked to the barn, spread hay, fed the tortie cats.

Inside I served breakfast to the cats who had nearly despaired of being fed.

I placed stamps and return address labels on two envelopes and started for the mailbox.

Partway down the drive I came upon two lengths of thin silvery cable lying atop the snow.

Stepping carefully over it, I traced it to a pole in the north meadow, turned and followed it with my eyes to where it draped from another pole across the south boundary fence.

In this territory where utility lines criss-cross and sag, I had no idea if it was an electrical power line or was related to the phone. Both services were up and running.

Tracking snow into the kitchen, I punched in the number for the rural electric co-op 

located in the next county.

My call was answered in the local dialect: "Taylor County Rerr'l 'lectric."

I was passed to customer service, assured that someone would be out to check, probably mid-afternoon.

Moments later, back at ice smashing, I saw a utility truck turn into the drive.

I put down my mighty hammer, wiped my nose and crunched over the snow to the truck.

The driver got out, considered the trailing wires.

"Ground lines," he affirmed. 

Looking out the front window a few minutes later, my hands clamped around a mug of hot coffee I watched a larger truck turn in. The drivers conferred and the bigger truck lumbered across the 

field to the power pole. 

The telescoping boom unfolded, a man climbed into the basket and was raised to the top of the pole. 

Men on the ground fed the drooping lines up to him.

I should think being a lineman is one of the more dangerous jobs.

The day was moving toward noon. The old thermometer in the carport stood at about 10 degrees F above zero. I had left my befogged spectacles on the table and stomped about in a slight blur, emptying the litter box, carrying in more wood, hauling out ashes.

I leaned against the kitchen counter to eat a bowl of soup, sat down at my desk, still booted and bibbed, to post some photos of interest on Face Book.

The day wore on in rounds of fire tending and ice bashing.

I managed to break loose some chunks of ice, scoop them out and drop them in the snow.

Why can't the wretched horse come down to drink in the brief moments when I have created an opening in the ice?

Late afternoon and the approach of evening brings a renewal of cold air as the sun slants away 

behind the ridge.

I feel heavy and slow.

Hot shower, shampoo. 

A black cotton turtleneck, wool socks, an old pair of flannel-lined jeans.

As I step into the jeans I hear the crunch of wheels on gravel.

I zip the jeans while I hurry down the hall.

A brown UPS van is headed down the drive.

A package is on the metal stand outside the back door, the cardboard is cold to touch.

I place the box on the table, switch on the kettle.

In the bathroom I swallow an Ibuprofin, hasten to the bedroom to root out a warm cardigan.

It is a recent charity shop find, long, with pockets, rather matronly except for its color, a lively orange red.

While my tea brews I open the box.

Everything is there in separate nests of cardboard or plastic wrapping: my new camera [red] the carry case [red] the lithium battery, battery charger, memory card, carry strap. 

[The reasoning behind the new camera is for another day, another post!]

I realize I need to eat, slice a cold baked potato and chicken breast into gravy in a skillet.

Teasel comes to my elbow, makes admiring remarks to the remnants of gravy as I set my plate aside.

For dessert a slice of the frozen fruit salad made at Christmas time.

Load the stoves.

Turn the pages of a book.

Pebbles in a Wyoming blizzard.  Snow came there during the first days of October.

Note the green leaves on the aspens.

It is too early to go to bed.

Outside all is still.

A half moon sits on its curved bottom like a sliced fruit on a dark platter.

The yard light glows, greeny yellow.

The branches of the maples cast gangly shadows on the snow which has been dented with my boot tracks.

The cats are inside, delighted with the choice of two warm hearth rugs.

I have to trust that all is well at the barn.

I spread more hay, refilled the kibble bowl before dusk.

A break here for my son's nightly phone call.

Stepping out to the carport for a moment I see that the old thermometer is holding at about 18 F.

That's warmer than forecast, and the night air has the scent of a 'January Thaw.'

Tomorrow should be easier!

The Cold Weather Journal, Day One

Cat tracks on the front walk.

Before heading to bed in the wee hours of the morning, I warmed two small rice 'pillows' to tuck under the covers--one at my feet and one for the achy place in my back. The cats really appreciate the warm lump at the end of the bed and jostle each other to be there--heavy slumbering weights. 

I woke at 4 to the usual disturbance of a restless boy cat. Rising up in bed I declared sternly, "Stop that!" Surprisingly the ruckus subsided, and after noticing the rise and fall of the wind outside I was asleep again until first light shone through the shutters at 6:30.

I opened the living room curtains and looked upon a sparkling white landscape.

I doubt more than an inch of snow had fallen, but it had been swirled and scoured and sculpted by the

 north wind.

There was a heap of glowing coals in the fireplace stove, ready to be stirred into life.

I dressed in haphazard layers, standing in front of the fire, then measured coffee, opened the door into the carport.  It was amusing to see the boy cats poised for their usual tumbling run out the door, hesitating as they felt the sting of cold air.

I dished out cat food, brought in more wood.

I fortified myself with a mug of coffee and two molasses cookies, enjoying the heat of the mug clasped in both hands.

I had to rummage in the basement closet to locate my fleece-lined boots, unworn for several years. I draped my insulated 'bibs' near the fireplace to warm. Swaddled in heavy clothing I trudged to the barn.

I got Pebbles' detested pill down her, hidden in a carrot, greeted the plump barn cats and poured kibble into their bowl. 

My face ached with the cold.

Back in the house to wind a soft scarf around my face, then out to pour hot water on the contents of the horse water tub and smash the hard crust of ice. 

In Wyoming we used a submersible electric heater in the horses' tub. Here it hasn't been necessary.

The overnight wind brought down a predictable strewing of slender maple branches.

I gathered those into my fire-starting pile, noted that the upper drive is now dotted with seed balls dashed from the sweet gum tree.

Downstairs to build a fire. 

Clean litter boxes.

Walk to the mailbox, hunkered into my warm clothes, not liking the bite of the wind.

Notice the meandering pawprints of cats in the snow. 

The small splayed footprints of an opossum are visible, the long ratty tail dragged behind, maybe the same one who dashed away from the compost pile when I took out eggshells and lemon rinds as the snow began last evening.

It has been a day interrupted by phone calls.

People are kind, offering help if I should need it to cope with the weather, or calling because I might be lonely on my own for a few days.

I yield gracefully to conversation--after all, my only commitment today  is to keep the house warm and tend the animals.

Communication is so easy now, so different from times past when a family might feel isolated and forlorn during a run of bad weather.

Accomplishments of this long cold Monday nearly too scant to list: the vacuum cleaner trundled through the rooms, a chicken roasted, a letter begun. 

In the barn, a snug cubby made for Sadie and Sally--a wad of hay pushed into a wire coop and covered with a ragged sheepskin rug. On top another layer of hay and a heavy old scatter rug draped over all. 

I try to demonstrate the warm snuggery to the calicoes--they are unimpressed, but they may seek out this improvised shelter during the cold night.

They are drawn to the small stall-like space a step up from the main barn floor. The stairs to the loft are here and the splintery shelves which hold horse paraphenalia. Rounded depressions show where the cats have made beds in the loose hay which Pebbles throws about.

Sundown was later tonight ,these few weeks past the solstice; it was still half light at 5 PM, a rosy stain in the sky reflecting onto the frozen white fields.

The night will be cold, around zero F.

I must keep the downstairs fire stoked, leaving open the door which leads into the back hallway where water pipes are concentrated.

Accuweather forecast for Tuesday 'mostly sunny and frigid.'

By Wednesday the temperatures will begin a slow climb to something more 'normal' for January in south-central Kentucky.

Perhaps tomorrow along with tending fires I will read or sew.

This is not the listless sense of hibernation which seized me last month.

This span of frozen weather is about digging in, bolstering my defenses.  It is fortification and graceful survival!

Capricious Weather

Very restless weather all day.  It was in the high 50's F well into the afternoon with a wind that billowed the flannel sheets I pegged on the line.

I wanted to be outside, taking advantage of the strange, almost balmy warmth before the record cold blast hits our area.

I fed the barn cats, fed Pebbles.

Looking for a reason to stay out, I decided to snip off the straggling branches of a Knock Out rose--I didn't prune that one in October when its companions were done--there were still a few roses blooming.

I snipped away, but it wasn't a good task for a windy day. 

I turned my attention to the row of cabbages in the lower garden.  We have been harvesting them as needed, stripping off frost-bitten outer leaves, uncovering a few chilled green cabbage worms before reaching the clean solid inner heads.

I found three cabbages that couldn't be salvaged. They seemed to have had a bit too much frost and a soggy rot had set in.

I rescued 7.

There is surely no room in the fridge for 7 cabbages--there was half of a large one already reposing in the veg drawer.

I have Matt's truck in the dooryard while he, with Gina and Jimmy, are taking part in a family holiday.

I made a quick trip to Wal Mart for ground beef, a big bunch of celery and a bag of carrots.

My first batch of French Cabbage Soup [what is French about it?] simmered, filling the kitchen with a savory smell, even as the wind grew stronger and dirty grey clouds billowed across the darkening sky. 

I hurried up to the barn to give Pebbles another pad of hay and shake extra kibble in the cat dish.

Cold rain struck my face as I leaned into the wind.

Within minutes the rain had become sloppy snow.

Back in the kitchen I discovered a few lemons lurking in the bottom drawer of the fridge.

An hour later two loaves of lemon bread cooled on a rack, lemon glaze puddling beneath them.

The needle on the old thermometer in the carport was holding steady at 49 degrees.

The cats, as always, have felt the approaching change in the weather.

The three boys popped in and out until the falling temps dictated closing the sliding doors.

Inside, they milled about, provoking mock quarrels, skittering found objects along the hall floor.

Charlie and Willis went in and out each time I fetched another armload of firewood.

They became indignant at being left in the carport as a thin layer of snow sifted in, blown on the nipping wind.

Coaxed inside they begged to go back out, Charlie fussing at the door, complaining in his silly 

high-pitched meow.

D. and his friend stopped by to inquire if I needed more wood brought in.

I gestured toward the tipple of chunks I had piled around the living room fireplace.

The boys were full of excitement, having driven home from town in the flurry of snow.

They seemed almost as storm possessed as my cats.

Slowly the evening has wound down.

My son phoned telling me it is colder in Wyoming than in Kentucky.

I sat curled in a corner of the sofa, weighted in cats.

Somehow an hour had escaped me!

"I must ladle my soup into containers," I announced. 

"Yes, I should let you go do that," responded H. then happily talking on.

Soup put away, lemon bread sampled and the loaves wrapped in cling film.

Downstairs to stash my bounty in the freezer, trailed by restless felines.

Rather than keep opening the door, letting in cold, I resorted to checking accuweather for our area--at half hour intervals the temp was dropping 8 or 9 degrees.

At midnight it hovered at 20 F.

Notices have already been posted that schools in the tri-county area will be closed on Monday and Tuesday due to the record [for Kentucky] cold.

I will be checking the fire during the night, although the furnace is set to come on at 64 degrees.

Dealing with ice in Pebbles' water tub will be a chore for morning.

J. carried wood downstairs before he left. A fire in the family room will help to keep the house cozy, and hopefully insure that no water lines freeze.

Accuweather now stands at 17 F.

The wind buffets the house, subsides, strengthens again, wailing through the bare branches of the 

dooryard maples.

The cats have curled up in favorite places.

I have done all that is possible to have the barn animals safe and well fed.

The house is tucked up for the night.

The clock has rolled round to the earliest hours of  Monday.

Time for me to put on my warmest nightgown--left draped over my rocking chair near the fire.

My bed awaits, spread in clean flannel sheets with a fleece blanket, a quilt and the shabby charity shop comforter which the cats adore.

For the next 48 hours I am committed to the timeless task of stoking fires and waiting on the weather.

Snowing in Kentucky

I have slept restlessly for several nights and this was one of the rare mornings when J. was first out of bed.

He even dished out the cat food.

Teasel came back to the bedroom after wolfing her portion and told me a long sad story about a starving cat.

I hauled on warm sweat pants and a dilapidated hoodie, thrust my feet into slippers and followed Teasel to the kitchen.

Her pitiful tale was debunked by the row of cat dishes on the kitchen floor.

Outside snow was drifting down in fitful flakes. 

When I opened the sliding door for a hasty photo several cats dashed into the fenced enclosure.

They were back in by the fire very quickly, shaking their cold paws.

Looking through the branches of the 'burning bush.'

Snow had thickened by mid-afternoon, clinging to the nandina.

Snow accumulation at 3:45.

It doesn't look like much, especially to those of us who have lived in New England or the interior 

American west.

Schools here are closed, meetings and events cancelled.

The library and several businesses in the town center announced early closings.

Roads are nearly all hard surfaced, but they are narrow and follow the many creeks that plunge down into ravines or twist deep into the 'hollers.' 

I needed to stock fridge and pantry with a few items as J. will be away next week, along with M. and G.

I will be preparing one hot meal per day to share with grandson D. who, with a pal, is meant to keep the home fires burning next door.

J. will be taking the van to the airport in Nashville.

He has had the red diesel truck for sale off and on during the past year.

Of course, it sold just in time to leave me with only old 'Snort'n Nort'n' available to drive.

I could if I had to, but Nort'n, the old Dodge, is not woman-driver-friendly, and I wouldn't want to maneuver 'him' in close quarters.

So, J. offered to drive me to Wal Mart [our local detested emporium] as he had an errand in that direction.

Cupboards and fridge are now stuffed with the sort of things that young men like to eat!

Cat food and litter in good supply.

Speaking of the cats: the ones who have indoor/outdoor privileges don't understand that unfriendly weather doesn't 'go away' in a few minutes.

They demand 'in', get warmed and dried, insist on going back 'out' only to act dismayed by the blowing snow that is still happening.

The smell of a beef roast in the slow cooker has filled the house for most of the day.

I baked Russet potatoes, made coleslaw with one of our recently harvested cabbages.

Taking advantage of the hot oven I stirred up a batch of 'hermits,' the soft spicy molasses cookies such as my Mother often made. I used dried blueberries in lieu of raisins.

The predicted overnight temperature is 16 F and the wind is biting.

With a rather 'safe than sorry' attitude I dragged my 5 rosemarys inside from the front porch.

It is meant to be much colder the first of the week, so I think I will walk around the large plant pots for several days until temperatures moderate.

I hope the boy cats, bored with inclement weather, won't decide to rake soil from the plant tubs!