So Much More is Going on Than Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday...

I have wanted an Ecological Calendar ever since I found out about it several years ago. I finally purchased one (it was only $14.99 for heaven's sake) and it arrived last week. If you've never seen it before, I urge you to click on the link and take a look. It is "the first" calendar to display the year in four astronomical seasons. It is a calendar from the Earth's perspective, if you will. Along with listing the traditional Gregorian days and dates, it offers up a poetic contemplation/celebration of natural phenomena in three-month increments. As I return to it over the days and weeks, I learn new things about my world and I am moved to meditate on the Earth. What's she doing now?

The website offers a peek at the Winter panel which begins on December 21 with the Winter Solstice. All of the months have names that suggest their mood: January, February, and March are called Celeste, Sleet, and Bluster respectively. The days, too, have names in addition to Monday, Tuesday, etc. Today, February 11, is called Mountain Quail. I'm not exactly sure why, unless it is simply to bring my attention to the fact that Mountain Quail exist in my hemisphere. They've come up with 365 names, one for each day, which after all is only a small sampling of the diversity of living things and phenomena that exist on our planet.

Today doesn't feel like winter--it is 63 degrees! It feels like a raw spring day out there. It feels like Bluster. I know that it is only a tease, though, and I'm keeping my enthusiasm in check lest I come into despair when it snows next. The ground is squishy with water. The water sits on top of the saturated earth in shiny puddles. This afternoon, I put on my brand new LL Bean boots, the ones I broke down and spent the money on after the rubber toe on my cheaper duck boots split like a rotten melon, and took a walk through those puddles and all the mud slicks that are waiting for grass seed. I wanted to photograph the spoils of the winter storm we had two weeks ago.

A big maple tree near the edge of the woods split in two and fell--this way and that:

It is sad to see a tree that size succumb to the elements, especially since our woods doesn't have that many big trees in it. I am not sure about the age of our woods. I want to say that it has been growing for forty years, but that is a guess, or a number remembered from a casual conversation with the previous owners.

One of the things that concerns me about some of the maple trees in our woods is that their trunks look like this:

Like they are soaking wet, but it isn't raining. In the summer, they look drier, as if they were charred in a fire. I assumed it was fungal, but a search on the Web suggests that it might be a "bacterial wetwood infection." Sounds dire, and it is. There is no cure for it.

Well, at least the tree will help keep us warm next winter. John (with help from Jack--get ready Jack!) will cut it up for firewood. The pieces that are too large or too small will rot back into the ground, with help from gorgeous decomposers like these already at work:

And those leftovers will nourish the saplings nearby.

I am at my best, I feel, when one thing is changing into another. And so, I am happy now, as Sleet turns to Bluster, as the moon begins to wane after a spectacular fullness, as the ground swells with moisture, as fallen trees lie in wait. Time is circular after all. Round and round we go.

In Which a Winter Storm Hits...

...and leaves us encased in an opal. Blue, pink, orange and yellow flicker behind a screen of creamy white.

The ice-covered trees clack in the breeze like castanets.

A thistle clings to its spot.

The old lilac bush spreads like sea coral.

The barn looks like an abstract painting.

Sunset comes on the tail end of the front and glints on the icicles hanging from the eaves.

Where Have You Been?

Apologies, gentle reader, for the lack of posts. I have no excuse except that things were busy and I didn't have much to say. I still don't have anything approaching a theme, but I can ramble with the best of them.

I don't spend a lot of time outdoors right now, because cold air hurts. I braved a walk to the bottom of the front pasture with John last evening, though, and the colors were amazing. I had just been looking at a Better Homes & Garden magazine and studying the palettes they used in a room I liked. Walking outside was like walking into the biggest, most color-inspired, coordinated, complementary room ever created anywhere. The sky was grey blue, the snow was white, the grasses in the fields were purple and gold, and the branches of the bare trees were black. But to say they were blue, purple and gold is not saying enough. The saturation of the colors, the way they melted into one another, or stood out in relief--it was so beautiful as to make me cry. Winter is cold and I prefer the other three seasons, but I can't deny its beauty. And living out here lets me see the beauty of winter more clearly.

These are pictures of another winter moment--when the trees were covered with ice one morning last week (taken from inside the front windows--no fingers were frozen in the making of these images):

Grandgirl Maria spent the weekend with us and she and I bundled up and took a walk up to the cabin just to get out a bit. The windchill was shocking. We quickly turned around and headed back to the main house where the fire was burning. "Oh, I can't wait till spring," I said. "And summer!" she added. And then, "It's freezing cold out here!" She had her hands tucked into her pockets and looked like a little pink gnome heading down the path.

We played princesses a lot. I had to hold two of them and make them be mean to the third, which she held. The mean step-sisters got to go to the ball and dance with the princes while Maria's victim stayed home and cleaned. At least we rotated out the princess who got the short end of stick. I tried to put in some "stand up for yourself" lessons in there, but she wasn't having it. If it was your turn to play the Cinderella role, then tough luck, sister.

She found my reading glasses and put them on. I said, "Oh, let me take your picture!" And here's what she did--she put her hand up. Like the smart girl in class.

LeRoy was in heaven with his playmate, Maria, here. He lets her pick him up and drag him around the whole house, over and over. And then he crashes nearby. Here he is on the new living room chair:

He is a handsome devil, I think.

And here is a detail of the new couch that goes with the new chair. It is heaven to sit on a couch again! And yes, Maria and I snuggled up and read books on it, just like I promised we would.

So, while it hasn't been a full-fledged funk, a bit of winter "Where am I?" "Who am I?" has settled over me like a fine dust. Here's hoping that you, reader, are making it through your own winter doldrums in the best way you know how.

Winter Walk

I took a walk yesterday, seeking beauty in the brown world of winter. I found it.

Palettes of color, form, and texture behind a scrim of tree trunks

Beds of moss with a hairy covering of sporophytes

Gill o' the Ground under the protection of fall leaves

LeRoy followed me like a dog.

And clawed his way up my leg like a cat.

Blooms of blue-green lichen on rotting branches

Perfect dinner-plates eaten out of oak leaves

Remember this goldenrod from a post last summer?

It is just as beautiful now

Along with the milkweed seeds

All glowing in the slant of late afternoon winter light, warming towards spring

Happy Solstice

How fitting that the sun is shining today. It showed its face for about five minutes on Friday after the big Break Up, but went undercover again until now—Solstice Morning. It may not stay, clouds in varying sizes are moving across the sky, but to see it shine even for moments on the ice-covered trees is heart-gladdening.

I’ve been thinking about the solstice a lot this year, perhaps because I am more aware than ever of the Earth. Everywhere I look, I see earth and trees and sky and meadow. And so I wonder about it more often. I marvel how human culture is tied to the cycles of the planet. Even though we’ve forgotten the original connection of our customs to the rhythms of the earth, it is there. The Christian celebration of Christmas sprung from midwinter celebrations of all kinds. Seems that many cultures, especially those that thrived in northern climates where the winters are darkest and coldest, celebrated the winter solstice with a sense of relief and happiness, and used it as therapy for the winter blues. SAD is not a modern malaise!

I looked up solstice on Wikipedia and under a heading, “Therapeutic,” was this paragraph:

“Midwinter festivals and celebrations occurring on the longest night of the year, often calling for evergreens, bright illumination, large ongoing fires, feasting, communion with close ones, and evening physical exertion by dancing and singing are examples of cultural winter therapies that have evolved as traditions since the beginnings of civilization. Such traditions can stir the wit, stave off malaise, reset the internal clock and rekindle the human spirit. [5]”

That last sentence is what gets me—oh, how we try to make the best of things. Let’s be “the glass is half-full” kind of people. I like that response. But it isn’t just blind optimism; the sun really is coming back. The days really are getting longer. We will not perish in darkness. Food will grow again, birds will sing, flowers will bloom. My calendar calls December 21 the beginning of winter, but I’m sticking with the title, Midwinter. I’m siding with the optimists.

While listening to NPR the other day, a Jesuit priest bemoaned the growing tradition of sending Christmas, or holiday, cards with pictures of your family on them. “More of the holy family and less of your family” was his complaint. Even though I haven’t been a Catholic for years, I still felt guilty. (Ah, that Catholic guilt—once instilled, it never quite leaves!) Reading and thinking about the solstice, though, has given me a new appreciation and perspective on the “holiday” season. There is something special about this time of year, and it doesn’t belong solely to followers of Jesus or any other religion. Celebrating this season is a deep part of our human nature, and a deep response to our place in the natural world. Sure, if you’re a Catholic, you may want to focus more on the holy family—but if you’re not, your participation in the festivities is just as valid. Sending and receiving pictures of loved ones is a way to connect with others when travel may be difficult. Feasting and gift giving, lighting up our homes and decorating with greenery serve to raise our spirits and give us something to do besides curl up with the covers over our head.

I love, too, how this time of the year makes us reflective. With the return of light, there is a kindling of hope and resolve deep within most people I know. The older I get, and with this move to the country, I reflect more on the planet and my involvement with it, for better and for worse. I would like to get to know my patch of land better this coming year. I would like to grow in sensitivity to it, learn to read it better. Through that process, I’m sure I will get to know myself much better—the good and the bad.

John and I have argued over which side of the bed we get to sleep on in our new bedroom. I’ve argued for my standard side, which is the left if you’re standing at the foot of the bed, looking towards the headboard. Ultimately, I’ve had to compromise—we’ll switch every month. And here is why:

That is the sunrise as seen when waking up on the left side of the bed, unfettered by the lump of your beloved under the covers.

Happy Solstice Everyone! May your view of the sunrises be lovely this year.

Aww, No It Didn't!

Yes it did! It snowed! I stepped outside early this morning to load up the car for a trip to Columbus and was met with this lovely sight (that's a falling snowflake blurring the upper left quadrant)...

Here it is out the upstairs bedroom window...

And here is the cabin looking, I think, like a cozy place to have around...

The snow was gone by the time I got to Columbus. But on my way home, I hit it again right outside Cambridge. There is a thick dusting over everything out here. It is pretty wet and slooshy, but so pretty. I hope it sticks around tomorrow so that I can look out from my warm cabin and dream. The first snow is always welcome by me. Come February, I'll have a different response, but for now...ahhhh.

I Choose...Warmth

I returned from the city late last night to one very cold cabin and two very happy-to-see-me cats. I got the woodstove cranking and turned on an electric heater in the bedroom upstairs. It took a while, but the chill began to fall away and the cats began to purr. I had to set the alarm for a middle of the night re-loading of the woodstove. We got a small stove for the cabin when we bought the place six years ago. It won't hold hot coals overnight, meaning that you have to restart it in the morning with paper and kindling, unless you get up and keep the fire going in the middle of the night. It's not so bad...if you're just visiting. Living here is a different story of course.

The woodstove in the new house is a marvel. It's big and made of soapstone, polished to a sheen on the outside. Here is a picture of "The Mansfield" from the Hearthstone website:

Soapstone has different colors in it, similar to marble or quartz. Ours is mostly green with white and cream and black variations. The stove in the picture has a shiny brown frame, but we chose a matte black metal. The marvelous thing about soapstone is that it radiates heat for 24 hours after the fire goes out. The box of our new stove holds about three times what the little stove in the cabin holds, so no need for middle of the night stokings. And the fire really looks like that through the window--large and lovely with a slow, smooth flickering. The cats are going to love it.

We also have a few strategically placed electric baseboard heaters in the new house so that we can leave the place for several days if need be in the wintertime without freezing the pipes and/or cats. It is a nice set-up.

I bragged to my son, Jack, that I had an apartment in my college days that was so cold in the wintertime that I actually saw my breath for about a week during a particularly brutal cold snap. I asked him the other day if he had turned on his heat yet. "No way! I'm not doing it until I see my breath." I hadn't meant to throw down a gauntlet, but apparently that's what I did. Well, he can tough it out all he wants. I'm going to stay nice and cozy, thank you. Me and the Mansfield--best friends forever!