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!

Glimpses from December's Final Days

Setting the table at Matt and Gina's for Christmas dinner.

G's Maine Coon Cat, T-Baby.

The old tobacco barn throws a long shadow onto the bleached grass of December.

Colors seemed clear and bold at noon on Christmas day.

The flower gardens are only a memory of summer. 

Seed heads of purple coneflower.

Christmas Eve morning, sharp and frosty.

Breakfast for a cold morning: waffles with a topping of blackberries from our garden [via the freezer] maple syrup and a side of turkey bacon.

Bobby McGee displays his white tummy and fat paws, while Mima sleeps beside him.

What a dear little face!

The Short Days of December

I fell into slothful habits last week, staying up late to watch 'Doc Martin' and 'Monarch of the Glen' with J. 

via Netflix.

It has been years since I have sat still in front of a TV, therefore this has seemed out of character.

On several dark mornings we 'slept in' until 8--even the cats were content to have a later breakfast.

If the 'boy cats' begin to agitate before daylight one of us, padding blearily along to the bathroom, detours to open the sliding door to the cat yard releasing a furry tide of feline energy into the chilly morning air.

Mornings have ranged from those with frost-crisped grass, cold and crunching underfoot to the balmy restlessness of the solstice.

The 21st was a day of uneasy weather. The wind blew, the sun peered out, then ducked behind 

swift moving clouds. 

In the evening, about 9, the automated weather phone announced the possibility of a tornado moving through the area. J. brought up the doplar weather map on his laptop to track the line of the storm.

Wind shrieked in the chimney, bursts of rain pattered against the windows.

J. put a small flashlight in his pocket. I hastily tidied the kitchen.

[Why? Surely if our house was to levitate from its foundations it wouldn't matter that the supper 

dishes were washed?]

Tornadoes have passed through the region, but we seem to live in a sheltered area just beyond the edges of the storms' usual path; still we always take a few precautions.

When J. reckoned that the storm was about 15 minutes away, we herded the cats downstairs to the family room--other than Mima and Chester who always refuse to cooperate. 

I refilled the cat kibble dispenser I keep down there and took down a bowl of water.

We had noted that as the wind moaned and lashed outside through the evening, the cats  became very 'twitchy' in their behavior. Several of them roamed restlessly up and down the hallway, those nearest the fireplace were uneasy, raising their heads to peer anxiously as each burst of wind rattled down the chimney.

Teasel positioned herself on the small side table in the kitchen--a place she never frequents. Her blue eyes were wide, staring across to the kitchen window, her sleek body still and tense. 

"Shall we go downstairs with the cats?" I queried.  "Waiting for something to happen is very trying!"

J. went out to the carport, ears straining for any change in the sound of the wind.

Willis whisked through the door, damp-furred when J. returned. 

Bundling Willis into the basement, I discovered that most of our feline tribe were ranged on the staircase! Somebody let out a nervous hiss as Willis landed amongst  the displaced cats.

A rumble of thunder, rain driven against the house by a surge of wind, then a subtle sense of 

force moving on. 

The rain fell quietly, the branches of the dooryard trees ceased their anxious creaking.

J. opened the basement door and cats surged through, hastening to reclaim their favored cushioned spots. 

I expected to lie awake for a bit listening to the patter of steady rain and the occasional rumble of 

retreating thunder. 

Teasel landed on my feet.  Chester and Mima appeared from their hiding places to swarm over our pillows, purring ingratiatingly.

We slept.

Contrails and delicate clouds marked the sky on Tuesday morning.

The white vapor trails shimmer in the slanting December sunlight.

I collect the slender branches which the wind brings down and drag them into a pile, breaking them up as I need them for fire starters.  J. apparently being tired of my untidy heap, snipped them into short lengths.  I think his arrangement looks like a house for Pooh or Piglet!

I retrieved the colorful cat print quilt from the local quilt shop on Wednesday and hurried to finish the outer edges with a folded 'back-to-front' binding.  It was shipped out on Friday to our grand daughter in Colorado.

Detail of smaller blocks and machine quilting.

The dooryard was squelchy this morning after a night of rain.

I made the mistake of slogging out in my slippers to tip eggshells onto the compost heap.

Later, properly booted, I made the rounds of the sodden gardens.

In the lower perennial strip, poppies have sprung up where ever seeds fell from the dried pods.

Weeds are flourishing as well in the mild Kentucky winter.

I'm having to concede that the small garden strip near the clothesline isn't a good place for perennials.

In a hard or prolonged rain the soil washes away.

I found two peony roots exposed and red leaf buds visible.

I fetched my trowel and carefully pulled wet earth to cover them. 

In the herb plot near the carport fresh leaves of lemon balm have emerged, crinkled and pungent.

Surely a frosty night will be their undoing.

I went to the garden strip where the winter cabbages are still thriving.

Nellie watched from beneath a rose bush while I picked Brussels' sprouts for supper.

Bobby crouches in the stalks of the Michaelmas daisies.

Willis marches by, keeping a catly eye on his domain.

Colder, clearer weather is predicted by Christmas Eve.

We wait, settling into winter, but mindful that each day will now welcome a few minutes more of light.

Reverting to Grey

Dogwood twigs against the dark sky.

Sunshine this morning and a frosty bite to the air.

We had errands--I needed to send off a parcel and buy stamps, J. needed items from the auto parts store.

Pebbles was nearly out of grain, so we also stopped at the mill store.

Waiting to pull out into traffic we noted that cars had been slowed by a tractor hauling in a cart load of shelled field corn.

There is still some standing in fields around the county--wet weather having delayed the harvesters.

Home again, I had thoughts of a quick walk along the road or around the edges of the soggy back field.

By the time I had done a few necessary things the sun had disappeared.  All was grey and gloomy.

I went out, but didn't have the heart to walk into the wind.

I foraged about in the lower garden and found Brussels' sprouts to cook for supper, and cut a large head of cabbage. The outer leaves were semi-frozen.  stripping them off I discovered a few green cabbage caterpillars, small and not looking lively. At the base of the cabbage, resting under the outermost leaves was a wooly bear--likewise stunned by the cold.

During the summer there were several families of robins bouncing about the dooryard.

I thought they were nesting in the two maples that edge the driveway.

With leaves off the trees I was expecting to see the large sturdy nests there.

Instead I noted one clinging to the high branches of the sweet gum tree.

Back inside, to cook the sprouts and warm up spaghetti from yesterday's supper.

Chatting with my sister on Face Book later, she mentioned that she wanted to make a rice pudding.

We discussed recipes until I, too, fancied a rice pudding.

I sweetened mine with maple syrup and added dried cherries and cinnamon.

It is about to become a bedtime snack!

Sunshine [At last] and Frost

Sunday morning saw a landscape of trees, grass and power wires furred with frost.

Mist hung in chilly clouds.

When I drew back the living room curtains, deer were clustered in the front meadow.

I crept out quietly with my camera, but they sensed I was there on the porch.

They began to move off, coughing and wiffling nervously.

The sky lightened a bit on Monday, although it couldn't be called a sunny day.

J. has been breaking a skim of ice in Pebbles' water trough each morning.

He is assisted on his morning rounds by Willis.

A light dusting of snow greeted us on Tuesday morning.  The sun came out!

A powdering of snow lingers in a few sheltered hollows, although the harsh weather which struck many places in the east passed us by, leaving us with chilly nights [slightly below freezing] and days which have a nip in the air.

After so many housebound days [between weather and having a nasty cough] it has been a blessing to bundle up and walk outdoors of an afternoon.

The light this time of year alters colors; dried grasses and weeds which look dull and grey on an overcast day, take on a mellow amber-gold beneath the low-slanting sun.

The creek, seen here at the ford, has a deep blue sheen from the reflected clear sky.

The bare trees are stark against the sky.

A walk at 3 in the afternoon, along the road which winds south down the valley.

The view is of a neighboring corn field, long since shorn of its crop.

On these shortest of days, the sun slides off behind the ridge to the west, leaving the back yard chilly.

Gaps in the ridges offer sunlight glow still along the road or in our front meadow, but the cold of early evening moves in, causing me to quicken my steps where the road is shaded.

Nellie considers jumping into the cat yard to gain entrance to the house through the sliding door.

The cats who have outdoor privileges have been more willing to come in at dusk--or even a bit before as the late afternoons grow cold. Bobby is the most determined to stay out late--prowling through the tall cold grass of the back field. 

Once they've been collected inside for the night, we are amused by the feline jostlings for the warmest spots in the living room: the hearth rug, the fleece throw on the love seat, available laps.

I have spent two evenings in the living room, watching TV with J.--a most unusual past time for me.

I became enthralled with the BBC series, Land Girls, and have sat there, mug of tea at my elbow, a cat or two sharing my chair. 

Of course series 3 ended with a cliff-hanger or two and many unanswered questions.

Now we must wait for the final episodes to become available on Netflix.

I remarked to J. that I would rather have my drama in book form.

He argues that it is better to 'see' it played out.

I have enjoyed the country settings of Land Girls and especially the period clothing.

Still--I recognize that I have a vivid imagination, one that is easily impacted by too much visual stimulation.

Perhaps next week I will make up a fire downstairs and quietly retreat there to sew.

I suspect I have gone into hibernation mode!