Encouraging Weather

The first tentative glow of sunrise on Friday faded to a grey sky, then suddenly, as with a determined push, the sun shone!

The daffodils have emerged from the snow and ice appearing stunned.

By late afternoon the drive and back yard were soggy with melting snow.

A junco perches among the red buds of a maple.

I have been dismayed by the plight of the birds over the past week.

Cardinals, bluejays, sparrows and juncos have pecked about in the crusty snow in hopes of 

something to eat. 

During the January freeze I sprinkled bird seed on the ground under the magnolia tree and some on the gravel of the drive.

I had misgivings about this, but felt that the birds were needy.

The bad boy cats, aided by Willow, have brought in three dead birds--two sparrows and a junco.

I have also been presented with a never-ending supply of dead mice.

We tried to be vigilant last spring during the nesting season when we realized that several of our indoor/outdoor felines are insatiable hunters, in spite of being very well-fed.

It isn't possible to keep all of the hunters inside all of the time; sadly, cats will be cats.

Three gnarly apple trees graced the backyard when we bought our little farm in 2010.

One of them, at the edge of the yard, blew down in a gale last summer revealing a decayed stump.

We suspect the remaining two hadn't been pruned in many years as the top branches have reached the power lines that connect to the house.

[This is the first place in decades where we have lived with old overhead electrical lines.]

Although unsprayed and unpruned, one of the trees produced some flavorful apples last season.

Our pastor, a hobby orchardist, speculated that the tree is a Winesap.  He gave us some advice on pruning fruit trees.

These trees are so far over-grown that we can only hope to remove dead wood and take off some of the larger branches which cross others.

Jim is an agile person, but I was not at ease watching him clamber about with the chain saw.

I was pleading, "Do come down now!"

I moved in close enough to pull down some of the severed branches.

Tomorrow I will help to stack them to be cut for firewood.

Willis felt that he could offer advice and assistance.

I was concerned that a falling branch would land on Willis's head. 

He plopped down from the tree and contented himself with prowling about, skittering out of the way as each branch landed beneath the tree.

Weary of Winter

Winter gave us another lashing early this week.

The weather had turned sullen early on Sunday with a mizzle of rain and dark skies.

I built a fire downstairs late in the afternoon and happily brought out sewing projects.

Isolated there from outdoor sights and sounds  I was unpleasantly surprised to discover after dark, that cold rain was pelting down and almost immediately freezing.

J. went in to bed at 11 and I followed a few minutes later, only to decide that sleep would be impossible while the wind howled and lashed sleet against the north wall of the little house.

I bundled into my robe and trudged out to read near the living room fire--where the brunt of the storm was less audible.

I chose not to look outside in the direction of the yard light before returning to bed at a bit after one.

The wind was still a presence but the sound of sleet pelting the windows was less.

Murky daylight brooded over a frozen world.

Snow was falling, thick and wet, quickly smothering a layer of ice which covered the gravel of the drive.

Tiny icicles hung from every twig.

Our local online 'magazine' carried the school closings for every county around. Meetings were cancelled, county offices closed, even the area restaurants and a number of businesses posted  as closed.

The road below the house was a formidable ribbon of ice.

The boy cats insisted on going out.

Their paws sunk through the wet snow encountering the icy crust beneath.

The cats asked to come in, shook cold paws, demanded to be turned out again.

It took several forays before they realized that 'out' wasn't at all pleasant.

I put on my boots, wrapped myself in layers of clothes, crunched cautiously over the frozen yard.

J. built a fire in the shop, worked on one of his tractors.

I made a fire downstairs thinking to continue with my sewing, but instead pulled a chair close to the stove, pulled out a favorite book.

The cats drifted downstairs, curled up on the daybed, sprawled on the hearthrug.

Late in the day I took my camera out hoping to capture some of the icicles.

I didn't stay out in the cold to experiment with different settings and was disappointed in my photos.

The seed balls still clinging to the sweet gum tree were encased in ice.

On Monday night our Amish neighbor, Joe, called Jim to say that he was short of firewood and could Jim haul in a bundle of slabs from the mill.

Joe's requests for a delivery of hay or wood always seem to be made when he is on the verge of running out and with the bland assumption that J. can immediately oblige. 

Normal traffic had not resumed on Tuesday morning when J. hooked onto the trailer and with the old Dodge, Snort'n Nort'n, in 4 wheel drive, began the cautious crawl out to the main road and then onto the winding side road that crosses a narrow bridge at a sharp right angle to lead into the Amish run sawmill.

As the truck lurched over frozen ruts and the trailer bounced along behind, I wondered why I had chosen to go along for the ride.

Jim braked cautiously to a crawl to allow a flock of wild turkeys to skud across the road--a few lifted into clumsy flight before landing amongst the bare trees and scurrying up into the woods.

The mill yard was a morass of frozen snow and ice with churned up mud underneath.  

The young man driving the front-end loader wallowed off toward the bundles of dry slabs lined up at the far edge of the yard. 

The loader floundered, halted at the edge of a seemingly bottomless puddle.

J. waved the driver toward the nearer bundles of 'green' slabs--not the best burning wood, but more safely accessible.

With the bundle lashed in place on the trailer we began the lurching journey back to the main road.

Coming in from the west, the turning onto our road is awkward at the best of times.

It is a tribute to J.'s driving skills that the truck made the turn and the trailer followed without sliding clear across to the ditch!

We chugged along, past M. and G.'s house, across the bridge, through the shaded stretch. At the bend by the abandoned house, an Amish buggy was pulled to the side of the road.

J. braked to a careful stop, put down the window.

The young Amish man holding his horse's head, grinned at Jim, showing a row of  teeth in need of repairs.

'Just resting the horse,' he assured us. 'Its hard pulling in the snow.'

His wife, holding the reins, smiled shyly from the buggy seat. In the dimness of the buggy interior I glimpsed the children's faces--several little girls in black bonnets, younger children bundled in blankets.

We wondered what need could be so urgent to take them out on such a nasty day.

It was slow going, past our own house and then up hill and down to Yoder's.

Chickens ran squawking out of  the way as we pulled in.

The Yoder boys converged on the truck.  No school at the Amish schoolhouse and the children home for 

the day.

Late on Tuesday afternoon the sun emerged, casting shadows on the grainy snow.

I opened the sliding door and teetered on the sill, focusing on the dooryard, criss-crossed with the prints of our boots and the cats' paws.

The sun glittered on icy branches.

I took a sturdy metal spatula and scraped snow from the step, hoping to please the housebound cats with a tiny cleared space where they could sit and contemplate the inhospitable yard.

The day ended, cold and still, with a sense of being held in winter's icy grasp.

I tidied the kitchen after supper, headed for my rocking chair with a book, too lethargic to build a fire downstairs and continue my sewing.

When I rose to make a mug of tea, my chair in the snug corner was quickly taken over.

Another day, Wednesday, has drawn to a close.  Enough sunshine to turn the top layer of snow to a mushy slop--another night cold enough to solidify it to crunchy ice.

The tentative daffodils are invisible under their chill white blanket.

Birds forage for seeds and scraps hidden under the crust.

We've turned the page of the calendar to March.

We wait now for the hope of springtime to become a reality.

Mid-Week Photos

I loaded these photos on Wednesday morning as we were preparing for a visit from J's sister and 

brother-in-law who planned a stop here enroute from their home in Ohio to a few weeks vacation in Florida.

By Friday I had forgotten [it was a busy Friday] that I neglected to complete the post.

Mornings have been slow this week, rather chilly, sun a bit wavery.

I decided to change all the bedding in the guest room to create a spring-time look--fresh pastel colors in a quilt which I made last summer.

I had the help of several cats as I smoothed clean sheets and plumped pillows.

Bobby decided that the quilt became him.

The room ready for guests--who fortunately love cats!

Outside the daffodils are progressing very slowly--none of the buds have yet unfolded.

In spite of sharpish winds, sunlight and blue skies are encouraging.

Red maple buds glow on silvery branches.

A few silky grey 'kittens' are showing on the goat willow in the front yard..

Grey button-like buds on a dogwood.

Note the red leaf bud of a vintage peony poking up through cold soil.

The tree peony is an early flowering variety which sometimes sets flower buds too early and is nipped by a late frost.

Here the leaf buds are beginning to swell.

There are few signs of life in my herb garden and little to encourage me in the perennial strips.

Spring this year is a waiting game.

My Boy-Cats

Bobby McGee practices airs above the ground after his breakfast.

My boy cats insist on nocturnal prowling contrary to my wish to keep them safe indoors from things which go bump, snarl, howl, in the dark of night on the farm.

If they aren't already safely in the house, lounging on the bed or sprawled in a furry heap on the sofa I round them up when I call it bedtime, usually sometime between 11 and midnight.

By 3 or 4 A.M 'someone' starts an agitation to be let OUT.

Charlie is often the first to instigate the exodus.

After several years in both Wyoming and Kentucky as an indoor 'rescue cat' Charlie went out one day two years ago, refused to be rounded up, and spent a weekend [as best we can tell] up a tree at the edge of the back field before I located him and Jim climbed a ladder to bring him down.

After a few days inside to settle his nerves Charlie declared that he was ready for indoor/outdoor privileges.

He has become disturbingly bold over the past year, regularly crossing the road to prowl along the bank of Big Creek, bustling off on endless sorties in the tall grass of the meadows, returning with his long fur damp and tangled with burrs. If we see him headed down the drive toward the road, one of us opens the front door and bellows, "Charlie!"

He obediently turns around and comes to the house--docile until the next time he fancies a walk-about.

Charlie is not particularly bright.  He has a silly high-pitched but insistent voice and when he uses it to announce that he must go out, there is no ignoring him.

J. or I huff out of bed and usher Charlie to the sliding door, with a 'good riddance' attitude.

If Charlie's demand hasn't prompted a mass feline exodus, the next to make his wants known is 

usually Nellie.

Nellie, an amiable sort, has different tactics.

He doesn't meow, instead he enters the bedroom, walks to the north window and rising on his hind legs uses his fat front paws to give the interior shutters a good shake.

If we manage to sleep through this, Nellie's next ploy is a leap to one of the dressers or a bedside stand and begin pushing small objects along until they clatter onto the floor.

Bobby is more inclined to stomp heavily about on sleeping humans until they wake--at which point he plummets to the floor and indicates that he would like to be allowed out.

Edward, who is much lazier than his brothers, tends merely to go along for a reconnoiter of the dark yard if he is in the mood.

Willis, who is meant to be a barn cat, has house privileges, but hasn't always proven worthy of 

nights indoors.

He tends to hide downstairs and appear at breakfast time looking rumpled and the picture of innocence.

Willis watches Bobby intently but doesn't venture up the tree.

Last night 'the boys' all went out early--about midnight.

I was in the process of settling myself beneath the quilts when Charlie started his familiar ruckus.

I swung out of bed and padded barefoot along the hall--only to find that Charlie had vanished.

The three brothers, Nellie, Bobby and Edward, appeared from somewhere and fell over themselves lining up at the sliding door.

Out they went with never a hesitation on feeling the cold air.

As I stuck my chilled toes into the covers Charlie piped up again.

He skittered playfully before me as I followed him down the hall, ducked behind a chair.

"We are not playing this game!" I hissed at him crossly.

He let out a squeak as I caught a handful of his long fur and reeled him into my arms, hustled him out the back door.

In bed for the third time I tried not to think of contentious opossums with their gnashing teeth or wandering coyotes and swooping owls.

Bobby, paws resting lightly on a slender branch, acknowledges those of us on the ground before climbing way out on a higher limb.

Edward's was the first face I saw at the side door this morning. His pink nose was pressed anxiously against the glass.  He gobbled his dollop of tinned food, polished his whiskers and headed for bed.

Bobby after arriving late for breakfast and showing off his prowess as a climber of trees, flung himself into exhausted relaxation.

Nellie curled in a tight sleepy furball.

Willis, who had been derelict in his assigned duties as farm watch-cat, took a nap on his favorite shabby comforter.

Charlie sleeps away the sunny noon.

There are times when I wish we could herd all the cats downstairs at night--there is the furnished side of the basement with soft chairs, a daybed, a rug, and on the business side of the staircase is the line-up of litter boxes, a kibble feeder, a water bowl.  

But except for the bitter nights when we keep the wood fire going in the basement, it is cold and unwelcoming during the winter months.

The frail old lady cats need the warmth of the living room.

Those cats who are well-behaved would be astonished to be denied their usual place at the foot of the bed.

Could we really adjust to sleep without the patter of furry paws?  Would we remain braced for the dreadful sound of an indigestible mouse about to be hawked up in the hallway?

Most importantly, wouldn't night be a lonely time without the contented purr of a nearby cat or the warm furry weight on tired feet?

I expect there will be no significant changes to the nightly routine.

The boy cats will continue to want 'out' at odd hours and we, their devoted humans, will continue to grumblingly oblige them.

A Scattery Week

The weather improved last week.

I was determined to be outdoors as much as possible in spite of having caught a heavy cold.

I shall remember 2014 as the winter of freezing temperatures and bouts of coughing.

Son-in-law M, took the above photo of the sand hill cranes.

He called me outside last Sunday afternoon to see them pass overhead.

I hadn't put on a jacket and was shivering while trying to focus the camera, so I handed it to him and he was able to get two nice shots of the third group of cranes.

When we traveled here in 2010 to find a home in Kentucky, we drove for miles along the North Platte River in Nebraska.  The marshy ground along the river banks provides winter feeding for thousands of cranes and Canadian geese.

For hours the dark shapes of the birds dominated the sodden winter brown of the plains. Small groups of them glided overhead, landing to feed.

The cronking cry of the cranes marks their departure in early winter and heralds their flights north and east for the summer nesting season.

Edited to add after reading comment from denimflyz: I thought of the cranes as spending the winter in Nebraska, which, come to think of it, wouldn't make much sense in terms of winter temperatures. Apparently we saw them in their thousands 'resting' along the North Platte as part of spring migration from points farther south. In Wyoming they could be spotted during the short summer season with their leggy chicks in tow.

Here is some beautiful footage shot along the North Platte with info on the cranes and the sound of their peculiar cries. 

http://visitgrandisland.com/cranes-wildlife/cranes/index.html

The daffodils which in other years have poked up their heads in January and February, often with resulting frost damage, have huddled safely in the ground.

They have emerged cautiously and the buds are beginning to show a faint yellow glow.

Edward wonders why I am on my knees looking at these green spears.

Pebbles the Horse managed one of her periodic escapes on Thursday morning.

The wind was blowing and Pebs thundered up and down the pasture, head high and tail streaming.

I got a hand in her scanty mane at one point when she paused near the barn.

J. bellowed at me to hang onto her neck until he could find a lead rope.

I had no intention of being tossed aside by her plunging about and I let go, where-upon she galloped down the front pasture and across the road to the creek.

J. was by now feeling rather put out.

He leaped on the 4-wheeler and took chase.

After a bit of a circus Pebbles was cornered by the barn and submitted to being lead behind her electric fence, blowing and snorting.

Tearing about the fields like a youngster develops a thirst.

Meanwhile Nellie, having been outside early to hunt and prowl, had collapsed in dramatic fashion on the bed.

The boy cats come inside with muddy paws and their furry underneaths damp and bedraggled.

I keep a charity shop comforter on the bed to protect my quilts.

Nellie is blissfully asleep.

A rather be-fogged gaze as Nellie has finally become aware that I am taking ever closer views.

I spent an hour or more on Wednesday loping the nandina down to size, cutting away shriveled berries and frost blighted branches.

With Pebbles secured and mundane chores finished on Thursday I decided to do a preliminary raking around the herb garden.  That done [and another session of mourning over plants which appear too blackened to recover] I began raking up the seed balls from the sweet gum tree.

The tree set an amazing amount of seeds which have been pelting down since late autumn, littering the upper drive, bouncing into the herb garden, some even rolling down the incline into the upper perennial strip.

I assembled two large piles of dry leaves and seed balls before the wind became so gusty that raking was futile. Banks of grey cloud roiled and raced across the sky.

My nose and eyes were streaming, so I put the rake away and came inside to mop up my face and put on the kettle for a mug of tea.

The phone began to ring just as J. followed me in.

It was the emergency warning system with a recorded message alerting us to high winds and 

possible heavy rain throughout the rest of the day and into the evening.

Having mentioned the warning system I should explain that with the threat of extreme weather or a hazardous situation a message is recorded at the County Office of Emergency Management and is then activated to 'ring in' on all the phones within our county. When our phone is picked up we hear the recorded message.

On this particular day the weather brought us no emergency and much of the projected storm front by-passed us.  A thunderstorm banged about shortly after midnight and I lay awake listening to the gusty wind and the pounding of rain on the roof.

Rain, warmer temperatures and several days of sunshine have stirred the earth into a cautious awakening.

Bobby-cat helped me to find a clump of emerging catnip to which he gave fervent attention.

J.'s elderly cat, Raisin, announced that she wished to toddle out to the front porch and sit in a cushioned chair facing the sun.

I, too, took advantage of afternoon sunshine, dragging a chair into the carport on Saturday afternoon.

It needed a fleece blanket draped around me to be comfortable.

I watched J. walking along the back field with a train of cats for company.

I read a few pages in my book, then sat quietly to marvel at the tracery of tree branches, still bare twigged, against the blue of the sky.

Spring is not quite settled in.  There are frost warnings for two nights mid-week.

Springtime will bring a goodly amount of work this year--several  of the garden areas will need to be considered and renovated. As such things happen, it will likely all 'want done' at once.