From Bleak To Bright

 I awoke at 5 surrounded by a wodge of felines. Strangely, the bedroom was chilly.  The last chunk of wood J. put in the stove at bedtime must have smoldered itself out.  I decided--as one does--to trudge to the bathroom and made a detour to confirm that the woodstove was indeed cold.  I resettled myself amongst the cats, turning to gaze at the winter-dark sky pin-pointed with the glint of stars. 

My pre-dawn reverie was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a cat about to produce a hairball!

I swung out of bed in time to prod Nellie-cat off the rug. 

Turn on the light, clean up the mess, turn off light, return to bed.

By now I was chilled.  I could have done any of several things: clatter about building a fresh fire; fumble about in the dark living room finding the remote control for the electric heat; pull a quilt off the rack in the corner or fetch a blanket from the closet. The first two options would be too disruptive, and I was in that

 half-witted fog that made finding an extra  blanket unappealing.

One by one the cats returned to the bed and we lay bundled together until after 7.

There had been heavy frost overnight.  Sunrise was subdued, sending a band of light over a pale landscape.

As the sun slid above the horizon ice crystals began to sparkle along the wonky fence.

Willis, always on duty, soaking up the early sun.

There are snug 'nests' prepared on the back porch for the outdoor cats; Willis prefers the bench near the front door where he can keep track of doings.

By the time I walked up the lane to the mailbox the sky was brilliantly blue and the air had warmed. 

Puddles lingering after several rainy days had formed ice reflecting the sky.

It was far too lovely a day to stay indoors.  Camera in pocket, a fleecy scarf over my head, I decided to walk the perimeter of our open land.

I often forget that our deeded acreage includes this triangular sliver that runs from the bend in the lane down into the south ravine.

At the lower end of the property the Jane magnolia [planted by former owners] is wearing plump 'catkins.'

I've  often wondered why former owners built a house on the very edge of the ravine at the west end of the property.  Their back door must have opened onto this half-hidden path which winds steeply through brambles and small saplings.

In the shade ice crystals remained throughout the day.

 A tattered sycamore leaf.

"Someone" recently drove across the area where I transplanted foxglove.  J. insists he didn't do it. 

A strange place for wheel tracks even in this yard where tractors and pickup trucks are always towing things around.

Some weeks ago a night of heavy rain and wind toppled a dead beech growing in the side of the south ravine.  J. sliced up the branches that stretched onto the verge....

...and then pulled the trunk of the tree to the woodshed where it can be turned into firewood.

I think a limb was cut from this tree years ago and the 'wound' healed oddly.  By using a bit of imagination you can see an animal 'face' in the center of the circle.

Willis patrolled behind me as I made two rounds of the property.  He took time out to recline on a fallen log that was catching the sun.

Waiting for Willis to stretch himself and continue our walk I heard the rusty calls of sandhill cranes. 

It was a moment or two before they came into view flying from the north.

These moved swiftly on in the standard formation unlike those spotted several days ago as they hovered and circled.  J. suspects that group was 'resting in flight' or waiting on stragglers. 

At the top of the hayfield--dandelions!

Midway Through December

Sunrise on December 10th.

Although the sky was promising at first light the sun didn't gain in strength.

The air was damp and the wind nippy.

Mid-morning I was working in the kitchen when I noted J. outside pointing and beckoning. I stepped onto the front porch to inquire and he explained, "The sandhill cranes are going over, but they must be waiting for stragglers."

Usually when we notice the sandhill cranes on their early winter or spring migrations, they are a rather loosely formed group winging steadily across the sky, their cronking calls ringing loudly before they trail into the distance.

The behavior of this flock was different:  they circled, wheeling and spinning , staying above the house for nearly 10 minutes before the circle stretched and moved off to the south-west. 

Wednesday [11th] was clear and sunny, a day to bundle up and spend time outdoors.

There had been a light frost and fallen leaves were crisp underfoot.

I am fascinated by the patterns of branches etched against a winter sky.

The treeline on the north side of the house edges the ravine rather untidily.  Jim cleared some low-growing brush there, but left several dead stumps. The long narrow window in the main floor bathroom looks out into the trees. Drying my hands I glanced up and noted a large bird investigating the dead tree trunk. Several smaller woodpeckers bounced about in the branches of surrounding trees.  This was the best zoomed shot I could get of the larger bird. The distinctive black gorget and red swath on its head suggest a Northern Flicker.  The woods here are home to several members of the woodpecker family.

Walking back from the mailbox at the head of the lane I stopped to admire the reflections of our neighbor's cattle. 

The hedgerow which forms our eastern boundary line with  a small farm next door.

I wonder what sort of injury early on caused this tree to develop a twisted trunk.

Willis, faithful watch-cat. He likes this bench on the front deck, often staying there when we think he should be taking advantage of the greater shelter on the back porch.  It is typical of Willis to be waiting for us on our return, whether we've been away briefly or on a day long errand. 

The sun sank into a fiery sky on Wednesday evening and the nearly full moon climbed a star-strewn black sky.  In the wee hours of the morning, moonlight spilling across my pillow woke me, to turn toward the window and marvel. 

Thursday did not fulfill the promise of the brilliant sunset, and as the day progressed sullen clouds moved in. The full moon was hidden and the waning gibbous phase has likewise been invisible.

During the past several days of cloud and drizzle we have been busy indoors.

Jim asked where I wanted to hang this shelf which he made several years ago at the farm from a length of live-edge tulip poplar. 

It is now to the left of the woodstove displaying various vintage tools.

Rummaging through boxes I found this copy of a vintage sign which had never been unwrapped.  It now hangs to the right of the stove pipe. 

We had an errand in Campbellsville and strolled through the aisles of Peddlers' Mall hoping to find a small bookcase to slot in by my desk.  It needed to be large enough to place my printer on top. We found nothing suitable [in fact most of the furniture on offer was of the genre that I call '70's house trailer] so, pondering on the way home I thought of the small shelved unit which has been residing in the downstairs bathroom to hold towels and toiletries.

It is the exact width needed; Jim planed and fitted some lengths of oak lumber to make an extended top. This was an odd unit that we bought several years ago when we bargained for some cabinetry to install in the kitchen of our lower Amish farmhouse. It is a sturdy piece with shelves that can be positioned to suit items of various sizes.  The paint finish is more ivory than it appears in the photo. 

At some point I should paint it either white to match my desk or with my favorite matte black. 

It is very satisfying to repurpose and refurbish.

 My Christmas cactus in bloom in the sun room. 

I usually have amaryllis and/or paperwhite narcissus in bloom at Christmas, but forgot to order them this year. 

Rain has settled in, sometimes a mere damping drizzle, but increasing this afternoon to a deluge that is filling local streams, running along the roads in rushing, foaming torrents.

Thunder has boomed and rumbled.

The sun made feeble and unsuccessful efforts to break through steely clouds, to no avail.

We drove through rain to eat an early supper  at the local buffet we like, then home to make up the fire afresh and draw the curtains against the darkness.

The cats have found cozy spots; Jim is parked in front of his newly installed TV in the downstairs 'family room.'

I'm headed downstairs to press 24 quilt blocks and arrange them for the baby quilt in progress.

Each week our house takes on a more comfortable and familiar air as our small treasures are finally unpacked and displayed.

Yesterday I made bread and a cream of butternut squash soup--filling the rooms with enticing aromas that promised a lovely simple meal.

It is the season to enjoy the rare sunny days and to enjoy our home on the days when the weather keeps us housebound.

Blown Into December

The last two weeks of November sped past, busier than I had expected. 

The weather, turning colder, caught friends at a vulnerable point in an unfinished building project, so Jim went to help, putting up insulation, configuring some wiring. I rounded up extra sweaters and bedding to bring more comfort to those staying in temporary quarters. 

Mornings have been slow;  a hint of gold on the eastern horizon hasn't always brought a sunny day.

On the 20th, we waited for fog and mist to 'burn off' then headed for the home of our son and daughter-in-law in Tennessee.  Jim had decided to leave a 'spare' pickup truck there, which meant I needed to follow him driving another truck.  I had some misgivings about that, as I've not driven any great distance since moving to Kentucky.  

The first hour of driving was along typically winding roads--if there is a slow-moving vehicle in front, there we are for miles, waiting for a clear passing zone. 

Going over Cagle Mountain there was still tawny color on the oaks, and the mellow slant of late autumn light bathing the deep valleys.  The road down the mountain is so steep and winding that I could spare only a few glances for the scenery.

Leaving one truck parked in Howard's dooryard, I became a passenger while Jim drove us over torturous Suck Creek Gap and then through cringe-worthy city traffic to connect up with Howard and his cousins who live near where he is doing custom carpentry. 

It was a joy while there to meet our not quite three year old great-nephew.

Home before midnight to see a deer, two possums, and a large rabbit hurrying away down the lane, picked out in the glare of our headlights.

Howard and Dawn [and their dogs] were with us for several days over the Thanksgiving holiday. The festive meal was held at the home of our daughter and son-in-law, Gina and Matt. Our nephew and his family were also present--lovely food, good company.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun disappeared, the wind came up and inky clouds moved in.

Bursts of heavy rain and a strong cold wind prevailed through the first two days of December.  Bundled up one morning to take out cat litter I glanced down the lane just as the top of a dead tree broke and pitched downward.  It was one of the fire-damaged trees which stood near the burned remains of the former owner's house.

During several days of inclement weather I got on with sorting things in the lower level rooms.

["Sorting" doesn't mean that everything has found a proper place!]

Jim announced that he was in the mood to deal with some pictures and decorative items so I hurried to be helpful. 

This is my favorite quilt rack, one that Jim made from tulip poplar harvested on the Amish farm.

My three cherished reproduction maps are now hanging above the piano.

An oil painting, dear to me for memories of a special place, now hangs to the left of my desk.

Not a good photo--with the flash reflection.

These prints came from a lovely gardening book.

I framed them to hang in the kitchen of our first Wyoming house.

They've faded a bit, but add color to the wall near the pantry.

I would like to display some of our vintage collectibles on the shelf [created by Howard] which runs above my baking counter.

Obviously, this wouldn't be a good plan.

We have too much help!

Robert is supervising!

The joy of the sun returning!

Note the nest of the grey squirrels in the top of a tree. During summer months I watched the squirrels leap from tree to tree--there are also large nests in the trees to the right of the photo.

The neighbor's property can now be viewed through the trees in the shallow ravine to the south of the house.

Every daylight hour is precious in these weeks leading to the winter solstice.

Jim has happily taken advantage of three sunny days to construct a shelter for fire wood.

This is firewood that moved with us from our Amish farm.

Part of the woodpile has already been stashed under the roof.

As we settle into the first winter in our new house,  I delight in the slow process of making the spaces more personal, of finding room for favorite bits and pieces. 

We are blessed to be so comfortable in the variables of weather.

The Edge of Winter

Sunrise 

My first act on leaving my bed in the morning is to cross the great room floor, pull back the heavy linen curtains and raise the blinds on the two east facing windows. 

Sunrise occurs a bit later each morning. This week only a faint glow of dawn rims the sky at 6: 30.

It is 7 or after when the full glory of the rising sun briefly explodes. 

In the time it takes to walk back to my desk and return to the door with my camera for a second shot, the patterns and colors have shifted.

It was pleasant, if not sunny, on the two afternoons last week when I worked to tidy the plantings along the retaining walls. 

The roses have all been pruned, a few weeds tweaked out.

I was pleased to note that I have 13 [!] little clumps of 'pinks' established at the far end of the border. The tiny plants took heart from rain and cooler weather and appear sturdy enough to winter over.

Nepeta, lightly pruned in August, has also spread into solid, fragrant cushions.

Garden nepeta is a close relative of catnip;  the foliage has a distinctive scent, sweeter and muskier than its rustic counterpart so beloved of most felines.  Edward -Cat is quite fond of this and if he is anywhere about when I disturb a plant, he throws himself into it, wallows and thrashes dementedly. 

I scuffed this heart-shaped rock out of the fallen  leaves during one of my trips to dump prunings at the edge of the south ravine. 

Before the first frost David Beachy appeared with farm machinery to cut the field again.  This last growth of the summer was light, due to the long late summer drought, but one bale was gleaned to be trundled off for the Beachy's cattle.

Jim has been planing lumber in the barn, some of which has come inside for shelves in the basement. 

That area [the back underground end of the basement] has finished nicely. There are now sturdy shelves for canned goods, a large work counter with storage. Walls and ceilings have been covered in a pale grey wood-grained sheeting.

I have begun the somewhat daunting task of opening bins and boxes to sort everything from sewing tools, fabric and projects to books [more books!] extra bedding and oddments, some of which need to be collected and taken to the local Goodwill.

The sunny downstairs living area is still a muddle of furniture and items which have yet to find their proper place.

Yesterday I decided to move a heavy vintage cupboard from one side of the room to the other. I got a rug under one end of it and began tugging.

Jim walked past with an armload of tools to store in the shed.

"I'll help you move that when I'm done sorting tools."

I was in that mood where something needs doing now, and I continued to push and drag on the cupboard until I had it nearly across the room

At that point I had to concede that I undone the 'adjustment' my chiropractor accomplished on Monday. 

Jim appeared later to position the cupboard and to scold me for my stubborness.

Temperatures dropped Monday night. By early evening flakes of snow were spinning beyond the porch lights.

Morning came slowly, cold, overcast, the landscape dusted with frost and snow. 

I bundled up for my morning chores--kibble and water for the outside cats, litter boxes to tend.

We were glad  to be snug indoors.  I read much of the day, Jim sequestered himself with his TV.

                 The cats demanded to go outside, stepped into the snow, shook their paws. 

The walk to and from the mailbox at the head of the lane has been chilly--better when the sun shines.

I sometimes remember to take the camera with me, awkward to handle, pulling off gloves, getting chilled fingers.

The tub of nasturtiums on the back porch held up through several frosty nights. 

Yesterday morning there was the surprise of one final bloom, short-stemmed and stiff with a coating of ice.

Geraniums, small rosemarys and begonias are crowded into the sun room.

The remains of the garden are bleak, the August-planted kale, broccoli and cabbages seared with frost and snow, not having reached full maturity.

The brown heads of sunflowers stand starkly in the glow cast by the early setting sun.

Weather and seasons defy the calendar pages.

We are more than a month away from the solstice, but we have felt the edge of winter.