~
Wednesday,
March 31, 2004, 7:30 a.m.
34 degrees, gentle breeze, overcast, sprinkles
Gentle rain is in the air and snow is slowly melting into
the atmosphere,
damp upon damp on this grey morning. It isn’t very
warm, but until the wind
picks up it is a nice morning for a little walk, a look-see
around to discover what’s
new on the Hill today. A great blue heron just went
lumbering by the window, slow
wingbeats propelling the big bird slow and steady over
the east meadow. Robins
are everywhere; worms must be rising to the surface to
escape the supersaturated
subterranean soil, coming up for a little air before
realizing they are the main course
in a redbreast’s brunch. The fields are about eighty
percent free of snow, but the woods
still have pretty complete coverage. There are several
good snow bridges across Horsey
creek, even with the water moving swiftly underneath.
Swamps are beginning to show wet
spots through the snow, but it is still possible to ski
for miles before being thwarted by a
tricky water crossing. This weekend promises to bring
sunny skies back to our
neighborhood once again. Why not plan a spring picnic
with friends...
a hike, bike, or ski trip to a beautiful spot before the
skeeters and black flies hatch.
Make some plans,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, March 30, 2004, 7:15 a.m.
44 degrees, windy, sunny
A blood-red sun slowly emerged from a sea of crimson to
start this fine day with flair.
As the old verse tells us, red sky in the morning,
sailors take warning; since I am
not a sailor, the day is looking mighty fine so far. The
Eastern meadow is full of robins
moving in their herky-jerky fashion, grabbing tidbits
from the juicy ground. Blackbirds
are caught up in a frenzy of mating, and several nests
have sprung up in nooks and
crannies under the barn eaves. A male bluebird sits atop
our dwarf spruce tree, looking
for a good building site to raise his future families. A
huge flock of blackbirds has just
spiraled in on downdrafts to join the robins in the field.
They move in speedy unison,
foraging so quickly the pecking motion becomes a seamless
part of their choreography.
Now and then they rise as if one entity, and resettle a
few yards away from their launch site.
The robins keep plugging away, taking a few steps with
their ramrod-erect posture,
then dip-dab, up comes a worm, take a moment to choke it
down, then plod a few more
stiff-legged steps. Robins move to Bartok, while
blackbirds flow with Mozart. A few
patches of green appear here and there as new blades of
grass struggle up through thatch
and road sand. Snowdrops are in full bloom next to the
house, and daffodils poke their
pointy little heads out of the soil to test the air. The
crocuses are still underneath snow, but in
the next few days I expect to see their sunny yellow
blooms shining through the rainshowers.
Take advantage of this beautiful day, get out and look
around.
Make time to welcome spring,
Daisy
~
Monday, March 29, 2004, 6:15 a.m.
35 degrees, breezy, sunny
Next Monday the crack of dawn won’t be so early, and
beautiful rosy glows
will be more accessible to those of us who like dreamtime
to last beyond 5:15 a.m.
There is a lot to be said for rising so early, like
having the day all to yourself before
traffic roars by, before the kids mill about the kitchen,
before the hubbub of the day
really kicks into gear. It is very peaceful before the
sun comes up, and even the birds
are a little less exuberant, a tad bit more reverent.
Still, when the clocks are advanced
an hour next Saturday night, it will make these beautiful
sunrises more of an everyday
delight. Today promises to be another beautiful spring
day. Yesterday I went on the
most perfect ski trip of the year; it was tee-shirt
weather, all the way up to sixty degrees.
The sky was a deep shade of blue, and every time I tilted
my head back to admire it,
I was treated to a daytime half-moon gleaming ivory
against the striking and vibrant color.
I skied alone, but not lonely. I followed a flock of
crows and they led me to a vast balsam
swamp about a mile from our house. I never knew that such
a place existed, although we
have been living on Tug Hill nearly thirty years. I skied
from hillock to hummock, avoiding dips
and crevasses that were sure to hold icewater underneath.
The sweet scent of sunwarmed
evergreens teased my nose, here and gone in an instant, a
preview of the olfactory overkill
that will set in as the days become warmer. Alder and red-twigged
dogwood were abundant,
and pussy willows were conspicuously absent. I saw many
fresh deer tracks, as well as fox,
rabbit, and coyote. Overlaying all was the persistent
sign of a large canine, tracks and scat
as fresh as tomorrow, and I knew the great dog/wolf
couldn’t be too far away. I haven’t
heard its eerie howl in many months; it was just about
this time last year that I heard it for
the first time. I left the swamp and heard crows to the
west, so I headed off in that direction
and ended up on some old logging trails that led to the
top of a big knoll. Critter tracks
crisscrossed the entire area and I saw quite a few
squirrels bounding from tree to tree.
Part of this forest is white pine, and the snow was
littered with branches and cones that
had blown free during winter storms. I finally caught up
with the flock, which greeted me
at the top of the knoll. I felt like I was in the middle
of nowhere; even though common
sense told me that there would be a road within four
miles in any direction I felt like the first
person ever to stand on that hilltop and admire the view.
The crows tried to entice me into
following them further west, but the sun was low in the
sky and I bid them farewell until next
time. I put the sun behind me and followed a small creek
back out to the trail and sped home,
brimful of the day’s adventure. Today’s jobs
will keep me indoors until after dark,
but I have yesterday’s beautiful memories to carry
me along.
Have a wonderful day,
Daisy
~
Sunday, March 28, 2004, 6:15 a.m.
34 degrees, zephyr breeze, sunny
Thick frost glazes every surface, including our temporary
plywood back step; this
was a sudden unnerving early morning discovery, arms
windmilling and legs akimbo
as the forces of gravity and lack of friction tried to
bring me to an early fall. But spring
is the season, so spring I did, regaining terra firma
with a triumphant ta-daaaahhh!
“I meant to do that...” I muttered to the
dog. The sun is fully engaged in warming the land,
and frost on the car melted as soon as the first rays
eased around the house. The valley is
shrouded in fog, but it seems to be on the run. Birds are
everywhere, greeting the day with
beautiful enthusiastic riffs. A dull roar from a distance
tells me that Mill Creek will be too
turbulent for opening day of trout season, just four days
hence. The drainage ditch across
the road couldn’t contain all of the runoff from
recent rainfall, and half of our newly-paved
road is gone, collapsed from erosion underneath the slick
black crust. It’s a good thing the
rain stopped, or we might be stranded here at the top of
Gomer Hill. Yesterday’s thick fog
lifted briefly in the afternoon, so we went walking on
the snowmobile trail. More debris is being
uncovered as snow melts, plastic parts and rubber belts,
empty bottles, cans, and cigarette packs.
Somebody lost an entire pair of blue jeans... now that
might be an interesting tale ! The mist settled
back in while we were far from home, and it was an eerily
quiet return journey. It’s lucky we stayed
on the trail, as visibility extended only about ten
yards, and all landmarks were lost from view.
Today should be a wonderful spring day full of warm
sunshine and rich aromas.
Don’t miss it !
Daisy
~
Saturday, March 27, 2004, 7:45 a.m.
42 degrees, breezy, fog
Steady warm rainfall late yesterday has swelled the
trickle of water in our
drainage ditch into a roaring brook, invisible underneath
four feet of compressed
snow and sand heaved up by the town plow over the course
of the past five months.
Birds have swelled their ranks with new recruits and
increased their volume to be heard
over the loud gurgling of meltwater. Half a dozen
bluebirds (the first of the season) sit on
a wire, their delicate melodies overpowered by fat robins
warbling their spring song and
redwing blackbirds’ merry invitation to stay and
plaaaaay. Crows are loudly proclaiming
their right to cruise anywhere they want, watch out,
here we caaaaaawwwwwm ! Geese
are flying above the fog unseen, but we can hear their
loud honking as they search for open
water. The spring flyway doesn’t usually pass this
close to us; for some reason, this year
there have been more geese than ever, and it seems like
they are showing up pretty early.
Maybe they know something we don’t know. There is
still plenty of snow in the meadows,
but bare patches are growing larger by the hour. Skiing
should be good later today with full
coverage in the woods; creek crossings could be
interesting. Head out in your tank top,
but take your fleecy anorak just in case...
Have a wonderful spring day,
Daisy
~
Friday, March 26, 2004, 9:00 a.m.
52 degrees, calm, mostly sunny
Wonderful fresh fragrant air fills the house, drifting in
one open window after another.
It is rich with the fragrance of earth and duff; birdsong
is borne along with the sweet scents
of spring, a harmonious blend of multi-specie melodies
and exclamations.
A little rain may show up later, but for now,
I am going to abandon this page and get back outside.
Toodle-oooooo,
Daisy
~
Thursday, March 25, 2004, 7:00 a.m.
37 degrees, breezy, overcast
I heard their mellow full throated chirps before I saw
them; half a dozen robins
were drilling for worms in the yard under the clothesline.
As soon as I let the cats
outside, the birds moved farther down the meadow to a
small piece of bare ground.
Yesterday’s warm sunshine melted a lot of snow, and
patches of grass are opening
up all over Tug Hill. Our yard is muddy soup, with planks
forming a boardwalk over
the worst of it. Only yesterday there was so much snow in
the yard that we had to
get out the plowtruck. Today’s predicted rain along
with very warm temperatures
will help speed Old Man Winter on his way, at least for a
few days. Geese are on
the move this morning, and several flocks of starlings
have been through the yard,
pausing just long enough to join our little home flock in
joyful noise. Redwing blackbirds
call back and forth to each other, filling the air with
their signature sound of early spring.
Crows are moving slowly from tree to tree, silent this
morning, possibly on the prowl for
the occasional migrating bird whose long journey has
weakened it and made it easy prey.
There is much to see on this wonderful spring morning;
take a few moments to drink in the view in your neck of
the woods.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Wednesday, March 24, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
36 degrees, breezy, mostly sunny
Four inches of new snow cover the land this morning; some
of it is fluffy,
some is windpacked and crusty. When I drove off Tug Hill
yesterday afternoon
the plow hadn’t been through yet. It was a slow
descent in low gear, fishtailing
around the corners even at a snail’s pace. Once off
the Hill, there was a mere
dusting of snow on the main road being pushed around by
hearty winds. The return
trip just after sunset was snowy-hairy-scary, with areas
of zero visibility and slushy
drifts sending the car in all kinds of squirrelly
directions. Our steep road still had
not been plowed, so I put my foot into it at the bottom
and finally crested the hill,
listing to the left and singing songs of encouragement to
my little front-wheel drive
car. In an odd reversal of weather, the heavy snowfall
stopped at the top of the hill,
and a bright fingernail moon was hanging out in the
middle of a cluster of brilliant
stars/planets. Lake effect snow at it’s finest, here
one minute and gone the next. The
sun is shining through high thin haze in the eastern sky;
to the north and west the sky
is clear robin’s-egg blue. Perhaps some actual
robins will appear in the next few days,
seeking tidbits in the muddy earth as it slowly reveals
itself in the coming thaw.
Yesterday’s snowfall is already starting to run off
of the roof in bright icicle-channeled
rivers, plopping big holes in the snow beneath. Once the
changeover to spring starts,
signs of the green season will be abundant and miraculous.
Gather in as many sights,
sounds, smells, and sensations of unfolding and
reawakening as your spirit can hold.
Hooray for spring!
Daisy
~
Monday, March 22, 2004, 6:30 a.m.
5 degrees, breezy, mostly sunny
It was an even zero when I first arose, and although the
sun is beginning
to warm things up a little, it will be pretty frosty for
the whole day.
I set a pot full of stew on the back porch last night,
and it is frozen nearly
solid. The eastern sky is striated with pale horizontal
clouds that were full of
fiery colors surrounding this morning’s sunrise.
Fresh snow crystals are just
beginning to lose the peachy blush that illuminated the
land earlier. It snowed
pretty hard for a while last night, but didn’t
amount to much more than an inch;
even this small amount of fresh powder will vastly
improve ski conditions,
both downhill and cross-country. To the north and west
all is clear except
for one fat contrail heading off the edge of our view in
a perfectly straight line.
Blackbirds aren’t singing much this morning; they
are hemming and hawing,
clucking and chuckling, muttering and moping from their
high perches in the
maple tree. Various flocks of birds that have graced our
trees and hedges
during the past weeks are laying low during this cold
snap.
When you go out today be sure you dress for the weather;
it’s colder than it looks.
Bundle up,
Daisy
~
Sunday, March 21, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
31 degrees, windy, overcast, snowing
Fine sprays of snow battered my face as I took a brief
turn around the yard
this morning. I am glad I dumped wood ashes yesterday, or
I would be wearing
them right now. If the wind dies down it should be a good
day to be outdoors, but
right now it is a little uncomfortable. Even the cats
took one look from the back step,
then did a fast one-eighty back into the warm kitchen. I
think I will sort through the
root cellar this morning and cook up a vat of venison
stew to use up some of the carrots.
They are beginning to sprout yellowgreen leaves from
their dull orange crowns, a sure
sign that they are on their way to the compost heap in a
few more weeks. If you plant
a carrot top in a pot of good dirt, you eventually get a
beautiful flower or two that resembles
queen anne’s lace. Once I planted a few beet tops
that had started to sprout, and was
rewarded with a lush crop of extra-early little beet
greens to liven up the spring salad bowl.
When the kids were little they were always sticking seeds
into yogurt cups of dirt; we had
windowsills full of greenery provided from lemons,
oranges, apples, avocados, acorns,
pinecones, you name it, they planted it. One of the best
things to plant in a container is
sweet potato; the vines are very beautiful. Ah, but back
to the basement... The onions and
potatoes are still in pretty good shape, which is one of
the only good things about having
a cellar with a dirt floor and stone walls; we can keep
potatoes well into early summer,
almost up until the early planting of new spuds is ready.
A trip downstairs is very rewarding
this time of year, a feast for the eyes as we admire jars
of jams, jellies, pickled this-and-that,
cider, syrup, sauces and salsas, and the bins full of
veggies that might not be harvest-fresh,
but they still beat the dickens out of supermarket
offerings. It is a nice balance, tending
small tomato and pepper seedlings full of potential
goodness, then selecting items last year’s
bountiful harvest. Small tasks like this lend continuity
to the daily voyage from wakeup to
dreamtime, and stitch our days together into one mighty
interesting tapestry.
Have a nifty day,
Daisy
~
Saturday, March 20, 2004, 7:30 a.m.
22 degrees, breezy, overcast, a few flurries
The sky is full of high thin clouds filtering early
morning sunlight and keeping all of
that friendly warmth on the other side. (And what’s
on the other side? The other
side of what? Today’s koan, Grasshopper...) All
kinds of birds are making happy
sounds in the trees surrounding the house, as if they
have full awareness that this is
the official first day of spring, the vernal equinox.
Quick, go get an egg from the icebox
and balance it on one end! It will become harder to do
this as Earth moves along its
path today; the official start to this year’s spring
season occurred at 1:49 a.m. If you
happen to see a sparrow today, it may be a manifestation
of the Norse goddess Iduna,
who represents the light half of the year. I will be
looking for her all day, although the
only small birds I have seen lately are chickadees.
Yesterday I went to the eastern
slope of Tug Hill to check out a nesting great horned owl.
The nest belonged to a
hawk until recently, and the big owl sat peering down at
us as we skied below, large
eyes and perky ear tufts the only thing visible above the
mass of twigs borne high in
a hardwood tree. It remained silent, and we spoke softly
as we passed underneath.
We journeyed through some managed timberland and over an
old homestead site
and eventually came to a large hillside hayfield, where
we spotted a large hawk
coasting on the air currents. A nest was spotted on the
edge of the meadow; perhaps
this was the same bird who had abandoned the real estate
currently occupied by the
owl family. We launched ourselves down the slope for the
pure pleasure of it,
arms held wide and howling with joy, as close to flying
as an earthbound human can get.
That one timeless glide embraced the essence of winter on
the last day of the season;
it was a fitting farewell to the Old Man.
Good morning, Lady Spring !
Daisy
~
Friday, March 19, 2004, 6:30 a.m.
17 degrees, gentle breeze, mostly sunny
A vast sea of fog is rolling into the valley, following
the contour of
the Black River. The Adirondacks rise above all, but it
looks like even
they may succumb to the slowly advancing mist. The fog is
shaped like a
big wedge, deep on the southern end and tapering down to
a point where
the silos on the Houseville end of East Road are visible.
Big white clouds
billow above the fog over the southern foothills, and a
few wispy high clouds
adorn the sky above Tug Hill. Two inches of snow fell
yesterday afternoon in
a brief storm that seemed to be centered directly over
our house. When I drove
off the hill, roads were clear and flurries were few and
far between. We skied into
an old apple orchard yesterday morning to gather a few
pussy willow twigs that are
just beginning to show their furry little faces. The
woods were quiet, and trees cast
no shadows in the flat light. Our bright jackets were the
only points of color in the
otherwise black and white setting. Many of the willow
shrubs were dead, their dry
barkless branches gleaming pale silver, starkly beautiful.
Some buds were fully fuzzed
while others will be coaxed open by bringing them indoors
and soaking the stems in
warm water. It seems like this winter may be endless.
There could very well be at
least another month of good skiing, but before we know it
we will be knee deep
in mud and getting the bicycles out of storage. I plan to
wring every last drop of
enjoyment out of this long chilly season. Life is too
short to gripe about the weather.
Get out and enjoy whatever Mother Nature serves up;
season your days well with curiosity and awe,
and bask in the wonderful variety of experiences that
surround us.
Make it a great day,
Daisy
~
Thursday, March 18, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
22 degrees, calm, overcast
The sun was here and gone in the wink of an eye.
High thin clouds are letting through an ample amount of
bright morning light;
still, it would be nice to be able to admire the effect
of direct sunlight on the
new inch of clean white snow that fell during the night.
Faint hints of frost coat
twigs and evergreen boughs and lend a soft look to the
landscape. Small tracks
lead in and out of the barn and end underneath our porch.
They are round clawless
pawprints; a stray cat has probably stopped by for a
while. We have seen oodles of
skunk and porcupine tracks during the last two weeks, and
are happy that our visitor
is feline, not of a stinky or prickly persuasion. A feral
cat on the premises will actually
help keep more troublesome critters in the woods where
they belong. While I was
outside earlier tipping ashes into a barrel, a large
flock of geese flew over, emerging
from the mist with loud complaints. They were in noisy
disarray and flew off into the west,
no doubt looking for open water. Several red-winged
blackbirds joined the starlings by
the barn this morning with their wonderful spring calls
blending in perfect harmony,
cooperating and not competing. It looks like a good
morning to take a little ramble
in the woods. We made the mistake of waiting too long
yesterday, and by the time
we ventured out on skis the temperature had warmed the
new snow to mush.
It stuck to the skis with the tenacity of morning gruel.
To the woods !
Daisy
~
Wednesday, March 17, 2004, 8:15 a.m.
14 degrees, calm, overcast, sparse flurries
Three, maybe four inches of light fluffy snow fell during
last night’s storm.
It was snowing very hard in Boonville at the end of
daylight hours yesterday,
but as Turin grew near, the big flakes became less
intense, barely even coating
the road. This new weightless powder combined with colder
temperatures should
make for near-perfect cross country ski conditions today,
and hopefully into the
weekend as well. A few flurries are dancing slowly
towards the ground, and up to
an additional inch may fall before this storm system
moves out of our area. I’ll bet
those geese we saw a week ago are bummed out at this
chilly turn of events.
Evening grosbeaks dominate the trees in the yard this
morning; blackbirds hold
their own with loud enthusiastic declarations
overpowering the feeble chirps of the
grosbeaks. The first planting of tomato seeds has emerged
from the soil, helped
along by heat rising from the woodfired kitchen range to
the warming shelf where
flats full of potential sauce and salsa soak up warmth.
Peppers are slower to show
their little hull-hatted heads; just when I think the
seeds may have been barren,
they will all pop up at once. Have a happy Trefuilnid
Treochair, the national festival
day of Ireland. This feast honoring a trident-bearing
Celtic divinity later became
assigned to St. Patrick by the Catholic Church, whose
sacred shamrock plant
replaced the pagan deity’s trident as a symbol for
the day. At any rate,
celebrate this day in a way meaningful to you, Irish or
not.
Top o’ the mornin’,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, March 16, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
13 degrees, overcast, breezy
In spite of the frosty chill in the air it is a pretty
nice morning,
breezy and fresh to be sure, but full of birdsong and not
as harsh
as it will be later if the storm drifts north. I was
enjoying the blackbird
chorus when I heard a new song, regular and high pitched,
coming from
somewhere up the road. It sounded a little like a
meadowlark as it sings
from the top of a tree in midsummer, and then it abruptly
ended. A minute
later the snowplow came down the road... I had been
captivated by the sound
of its back-up alarm, activated when the big truck
shifted into reverse. D’oh !
Today marks the beginning of the two day Festival of
Bacchus/Dionysus,
intended to promote a successful grape harvest for the
coming year.
Let’s hope it works for dandelions, raspberries,
elderberries, apples, and
all other tasty fermentable foodstuffs as well; raise a
glass tonight and
toast the harvest yet-to-be while enjoying the fruits of
last year’s labor.
Salut,
Daisy
~
Monday, March 15, 2004, 7:30 a.m.
27 degrees, windy, mostly cloudy
An inch of snow fell late yesterday afternoon and now the
wind is swooping
it up in giant funnels and dancing them around the
meadows in a fierce tarantella.
We had an undercover sunrise, but when the sun finally
appeared it made quite an
entrance. Huge masses of dark clouds were sweeping the
sky from west to east,
and occasionally a small patch of blue would peek through.
About an hour after the
sun came up, the clouds parted and released a shower of
golden beams connecting
heaven and earth for several breathtaking moments. If we
were involved as bit players
in an episode of The X Files it would be at that
point in the story that cows would give
birth to three-headed calves, house cats would leap all
akimbo at invisible rodents, and
young children would see tall androgynous angels. The
wind has picked up in the last five
minutes and now snow is no longer dancing; it is escaping
from Tug Hill in great gusting
sheets of white. Today is the Ides of March, a day on
which river sprites and nymphs
were honored in pagan times. Perhaps the wildly swirling
snow is a manifestation of our
frosty water spirits having a little late winter fling.
Looks like the skiing will be icy for at
least one more day. Ah well, I have to go to work anyway;
there is just enough time to
admire the rugged windswept view from the snugness of a
comfy chair by the
woodstove while I enjoy a second cup of coffee.
Take time to enjoy your view,
Daisy
~
Sunday, March 14, 2004, 8:15 a.m.
21 degrees, breezy, partly sunny
It has warmed up considerably from our overnight low
temperature
of ten degrees. Earlier there were only a few clouds to
impede the strong
late-winter rays from Old Mister Sun, who is getting
stronger every day.
In a week we will officially be on the other side of
winter, longer days soon
chock-full of outdoor chores to keep us busy from cain’t-see
to cain’t-see.
Our yard is filled with birds this morning; starlings,
evening grosbeaks, chickadees,
bluejays, and crows are harmonizing in the big maples
that surround the barn.
I heard a mourning dove’s haunting call from the
hedgerow, and (finally!) thrilled
to the bright cheerful greeting of red-winged blackbirds
calling back and forth.
Even though I got popsicle toes from standing around on
the frozen shale in my
flipflops enjoying the birdsong, I was filled with joy at
the sounds of spring all
around me. A deer is walking across the east meadow,
frozen snow easily
supporting its weight. Skiing is difficult on the icy
hardpack; perhaps a walk
would be a better choice today. At any rate, I believe I
will go out for a
while before the wind picks up and turns this into a
typical March day on Tug Hill.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Sunday, March 14, 2004, 8:15 a.m.
21 degrees, breezy, partly sunny
It has warmed up considerably from our overnight low
temperature
of ten degrees. Earlier there were only a few clouds to
impede the strong
late-winter rays from Old Mister Sun, who is getting
stronger every day.
In a week we will officially be on the other side of
winter, longer days soon
chock-full of outdoor chores to keep us busy from cain’t-see
to cain’t-see.
Our yard is filled with birds this morning; starlings,
evening grosbeaks, chickadees,
bluejays, and crows are harmonizing in the big maples
that surround the barn.
I heard a mourning dove’s haunting call from the
hedgerow, and (finally!) thrilled
to the bright cheerful greeting of red-winged blackbirds
calling back and forth.
Even though I got popsicle toes from standing around on
the frozen shale in my
flipflops enjoying the birdsong, I was filled with joy at
the sounds of spring all
around me. A deer is walking across the east meadow,
frozen snow easily
supporting its weight. Skiing is difficult on the icy
hardpack; perhaps a walk
would be a better choice today. At any rate, I believe I
will go out for a
while before the wind picks up and turns this into a
typical March day on Tug Hill.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Saturday, March 13, 2004 7:30 a.m.
14 degrees, windy, partly sunny, flurries
After yesterday’s howler I fully expected to wake up
to several inches of new
snow but the yard doesn’t even need to be plowed
this morning. Parking lots in
Boonville had six inches of heavy snow in them yesterday
afternoon but high winds
must have moved the dense little flakes off of Tug Hill
before they had a chance to
get too settled. The late-day drive home was mostly
blind, with whiteouts every fifty
yards and random piles of slushy mush to navigate through.
The ride was made even
more exciting by several SUVs with no headlights hauling
trailers, who decided they
had to pass anything going less than fifty. I pulled over
once during a clear spell to let
three of them pass, and I’ll bet they were going
sixty-five. This morning’s local news
had several reports of storm-related head-on collisions,
and I’m not one bit surprised.
The town plow had just been up our road minutes before I
got to the bottom, but by
the time I reached the top of the hill, drifts were
already beginning to block the way.
It is amazing what the awesome power of a fierce winter
wind can accomplish in
just a short time. Brilliant sunshine is backlighting the
flurries that are currently
swirling and dancing; it is almost too bright to watch.
Tonight will be very cold,
so take care of your pets and yourselves. Wear your hat
and mittens,
and always carry a spare pair of wool socks in your car
just in case.
Bundle up,
Daisy
~
Friday, March 12, 2004 8:00 a.m.
20 degrees, windy, snowing
Well, it looks like the Lion of March has finally
made an appearance.
The weatherman says that we have had more than an inch of
snow so far,
but I think it has all blown off of Tug Hill and down
into his yard. Nothing is
sticking to the icy ground; flakes are skidding along at
breakneck speed, whirling
in angry-looking airborne vortices, up, up, and awaaaaaay!
Visibility is near zero;
I can barely see the forsythia hedge twenty feet from the
window. Yesterday was
another story altogether. The sun was just beginning to
wake up the flies on the barn
siding as we headed into the woods on our skinny skis.
Before we left we used a topo
map and took a compass reading; we planned to ski in a
straight line to a certain point
on the Plummer Road. (It’s always interesting
to have a plan...) The snow was crusty
and fast, and skiing through the hardwood forest was a
joy. Soon we came to a balsam
swamp, full of young trees and icy hummocks sloping down
into open water holes.
The footing was slick and no matter which way we turned
there were plenty of obstacles.
As we picked our way through the toolies a raven flew
overhead, mumbling and seeming
to deliver a message to us. Poe had it right, these guys
can talk. This big bird started out
with dire warning growls and menacing grumbles, then
changed his tune into mellow sounds
that would make Ertha Kitt green with envy. This one bird
sang an entire opera in just about
a minute, a whole range of sounds and emotions. “What?
Huh? Can’t you be more specific,”
I whispered to the bird as it flew off into the trees.
After several tumbles and a hawthorn
poke to the thigh, we finally emerged into more open
forest, a dreamscape of excellent gliding
and fantastic colors bouncing from sunlit snow crystals.
“Ahhhhh, thank you Raven; you have
shown us that often we must persevere through hardship to
achieve intense joy and beauty...”
As we reached the Plummer Road, the raven emerged
from tall treetops and chuckled just
a few times before bidding us adieu for the day, his
benediction to a really excellent adventure.
The magic of yesterday is still with me,
tempering the blustery view this morning.
Thank goodness for beautiful memories,
Daisy
~
Thursday, March 11, 2004 7:45 a.m.
40 degrees, calm, sunny
Bright blue morning sky fades to pale along the horizon.
It has been a few days since I have managed to view the
sunrise, but there it is,
blazing away, so I guess it must’ve riz. Although
the thermometer reads 40, the
surface of the snow is still crusty in the shade, so we
are getting ready to head
out on skis before it gets too mushy to glide. Yesterday
we took a long walk on a
snowmobile trail by our house, and I had to frequently
clean hardpacked snow from
between the dog’s toes. He was fine if he stayed on
the path, but just a few steps
into the wet snow of the woods and he came out wearing
five pounds of snowballs.
We saw a mink bounding along Horsey Creek’s opposite
shore, looking much like a
big brown inchworm with stubby little legs, folding
double and lengthening out again
with every leap. Its tracks crossed the road three times;
maybe it was looking for a
little afternoon delight. Farther up the trail we saw the
first fuzzy buds of pussy willows,
just beginning to burst out to signal the end of winter (although
tomorrow we won’t be
thinking this long season is over). Late yesterday
afternoon we saw hundreds of geese
on the other side of Tug Hill, on the spring flyway that
follows Route 11. There is little
snow up that way, and meadows next to Route 177 were full
of grazing deer. On the
trip home I swerved to avoid a mostly-black skunk, but
our noses told us other drivers
(and skunks) had not been so lucky. The stars were out in
full force last night, even more
brilliant due to a late moonrise. There was one
particularly eye-catching object in the sky
just to the northwest of Orion, brighter than anything
else in the sky. There is much to
admire in Mother Nature’s house, and this time of
year provides such
a wealth of sensory delights that I often feel slightly
overwhelmed.
Go outdoors and look around,
Daisy
~
Wednesday, March 10, 2004 8:30 a.m.
37 degrees, breezy, mostly sunny
The thermometer says it’s above freezing, but as I
hung wet sheets outside
on the line a few minutes ago they froze almost before I
could get the clothespins
attached. By the time I got to the last sheet it was a
tangled mass of solid frosted
fabric, ice crystals casting a dusty bloom across the
blue plaid flannel. Next load,
I will wear gloves. A brisk breeze from the west quickly
invaded my comfort zone
and I was happy to come back inside. Next load, I will
wear socks with my clogs
and a warmer coat. We are having bright sunshine on Tug
Hill, but the valley is
smothered in fog. A little more snow fell overnight;
altogether in the last three days
we have had a total of an inch of new powder. The
dazzling clean white blanket is
a definite improvement to the messy sludge that dominated
the view since last week’s
thaw. A flock of chickadees has left the woods and is
flitting about the shrubbery,
chick-a-dee, dee, deeeeeeee! I
thought I heard a red-winged blackbird earlier today,
but when I strained my ears to hear it again all I heard
was crows. I heard geese early
last night, but it was too dark to see which way they
were headed.
A few clouds are moving in, but it looks like the sun
will hang around for a while,
and impart some April-freshness to our March laundry.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, March 9, 2004 8:00 a.m.
25 degrees, calm, overcast, flurries
Another half inch of snow fell overnight and this stuff
is sticking to tree trunks
and twigs with the tenacity of a white toy poodle on a
Snausage. Every surface
is softened by the frosty snow-spikes, and treetops stand
out in dazzling relief
against a pearly grey sky. Here and there the treeline is
punctuated by blackbirds
and chickadees, a nice contrast to the whiteness of it
all. A closer inspection of the
twigs reveals tiny individual spines of snow, looking
like the fine hairs of an albino
tarantula’s legs. It’s a mystery to me how
hexagonal snowflakes can be transformed
into the fine cilia that have overtaken the view this
morning. It’s probably some
principle of physics, or a meteorological phenomenon, but
in my mind’s eye it
still looks like the work of naiads, playful water
spirits that spent last night
creating these amazing little sculptures just for the fun
of it.
Have a spirited day,
Daisy
~
Monday, March 8, 2004 8:00 a.m.
30 degrees, calm, overcast, flurries
Less than a half inch of snow fell overnight, yet it is
enough to cover the dirt
and sand left behind from last week’s thaw. Little
flakes are falling straight to
earth but it doesn’t look like it will amount to
much. Even this small amount of
snow will vastly improve cross country ski conditions.
Yesterday I explored the
areas around our farm, and it was a fast and tricky ride.
I used the steel edges
of my skis to bite into the hard crusty snow; otherwise I
would have careened
down the hills at mach two. The only thing that held my
speed in check was a
powerful snowplow wedge maneuver; anyone lacking that
basic skill yesterday
would have surely ended up in a pile of hapless humanity
in the hedgerow at the
bottom of the meadow. The snow had melted and then
refrozen into boilerplate,
or what is commonly known in the ski industry as “eastern
powder”. It didn’t freeze
in a nice smooth sheet, either. The pitted icy surface
resembled the squamous and
scaly back of a humungous crocodile. In sharp contrast to
most of the snow, roadside
stuff that had been cycled through the town snowblower
had melted down into fantastic
shapes, soft crystalline stalagmites eroded by salt from
the road’s surface. After climbing
the bank across the road, I first encountered a
thick layer of sand, then several yards of
delicate faerie towers, and finally acres of reptilian
frozen hard-to-stay-vertical slippery
crud. Still, the day was gorgeous and I felt compelled to
make the rounds, even though
it tested all of my skills as a cross-country skier. The
grip was surprisingly good, and for
the first time in my recollection I was able to achieve
amazing glide while skiing up the hills.
I cleared mouse nests out of the bluebird boxes and
peered down several holes
that had opened in the snow, some small enough for mice,
voles, moles, or shrews,
and a larger one by the outflow from our springbox that
could belong to a muskrat.
Tracks from previous ski trips had solidified into
parallel ridges of ice, standing in
bold relief an inch above the rest of the terrain.
Critter tracks were invisible,
but there should be lots of them to admire in today’s
fresh powder.
To the woods !
Daisy
~
Sunday, March 7, 2004 8:15 a.m.
24 degrees, gentle breeze, overcast and cloudy
A very small amount of snow fell last night, just enough
to almost cover bare spots
on the lawn. Bright grey sky is overlaid by big dark
clouds slowly moving north.
I was checking out the sky earlier when, to my amazement,
a flock of geese passed
overhead... flying west. They were silent but purposeful,
lined up in traditional check-mark
formation. Other airborne critters, namely the jagunda
house flies that have been hatching
faster than the vacuum cleaner can suck them up, now rest
in torpor on chestnut sills against
cold glass, waiting for sunbeams to nudge them back into
a buzzing frenzy. Blackbirds are
singing a particularly lovely tune this morning; a dozen
of them sit on the wire and in the big
maple tree outside of the barn. Two ravens are strutting
back and forth across the old pumpkin
patch, occasionally dipping their shaggy black-billed
heads to glean some morsel from the
emerging top dressing of stable muck. I doubt it will
warm up above freezing today.
Perhaps the snow will be firm enough to support the
weight of an adventurer or two.
Have some fun today,
Daisy
~
Saturday, March 6, 2004 7:00 a.m.
40 degrees, windy, overcast
Cloud cover didn’t keep the nearly full moon from
poking its nose into
every window last night. The silvery glow combined with
noisy wind to make
for a rough night’s sleep. It is very windy this
morning but flocks of birds are
coming and going in spite of the turbulence. A pair of
ravens has been lurking
about the woodlot for the past week or so; it would be
interesting to have them
stick around. Several bare spots have opened up in the
snow around the house,
including underneath the bush where small green snowdrop
spears are emerging.
Another day or two above freezing and they will display
the pale bobbing orchid-like
blossoms that nearly always signal an oncoming storm. I
believe they got their name
from the fact that snow will be sure to drop on them soon
after they bloom. Several
places in the meadows have given way to the water that
runs underneath the snow,
and deer have been coming out to drink. Horsie Creek is
beginning to show signs
of becoming Horsie River as swift water nibbles at
massive snowbanks and carried
them downstream. Pussy willow buds are swelling in
anticipation of becoming
full-fledged catkins, nostalgic harbingers of spring. The
wind will shift later today
and usher in another cold spell, but the end of winter is
in our sights and
we will soon be wallowing in wonderful, fragrant,
glorious gooey muddy spring !
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Friday, March 5, 2004 8:00 a.m.
33 degrees, breezy, foggy, raining
Wind, rain, and fog are a lethal combination for snow
cover; I can practically
watch the banks shrink in the same way I see corn growing
in July. The damp
dank day hasn’t deterred birds in any way. If
anything, there are more of them
than ever and I have a good view from the window as they
pass from tree to tree.
Thick fog makes positive identification tricky, but I
think the majority of them are
starlings. Large flocks of small sparrow-sized birds are
also moving in and out of view;
perhaps they are actually sparrows. Spots of lawn are
slowly increasing in area, and
as the road banks draw back they reveal an appalling
amount of sand that will have
to be removed before we can run the lawn mower. It seems
like only yesterday we
toiled with leaf rakes to get the place ready for winter.
Time has a way of passing
unnoticed, until we take a long hard look at what has
been accomplished and balance
it against the tasks that still remain. Sometimes it
seems like there are not enough hours
in the day, then zip-zap-zot! a week, a month, a year has
flown by. Have you ever driven
somewhere and arrived at your destination all of a
sudden, without remembering any
details of the drive? Make it a point today to completely
immerse yourself in every aspect
of at least one task. I plan to start tomato and pepper
plants today, mindfully and with
complete awareness of the soil, the seeds, and thoughts
of salsas and sauces past, present,
and future. If we fail to deliberately capture ordinary
moments in time, one by one,
then zip-zap-zot ! we are at the end of our days and
wondering how we got there.
Enjoy the trip,
Daisy
~
Thursday, March 4, 2004 8:00 a.m.
32 degrees, gentle breeze, foggy
It has been a while since fog shrouded Tug Hill
with its soft edges
and hair-flattening dampness. Sky and snow are gently
held together by ethereal
strands of mist, and it is hard to see where one begins
and the other ends. Smoke
from the woodstove chimney enriches the fog with the tang
of yellow birchbark,
one of the best aromas of the season. This fog will do
more to eat up snowcover
than rain and wind combined; already the banks have
shrunk a foot or so. We went
out on cross country skis yesterday afternoon but sank
into soft mushy show up to
our knees; it was nearly impossible to achieve any
forward motion at all. We took
off the skis and walked up to a nearby snowmobile trail
and headed off once again.
The glide wasn’t too bad and, since it was midweek,
traffic was light. We saw lots
of snowmobile parts and pieces on the trail, spark plugs
and belts and unidentifiable
hunks of black and red plastic. Wouldn’t you notice
if stuff was falling off of your
snow machine? The upside to this is the amazing amount of
wrenches and other
small mechanic's tools we find after the snow has melted
away in the spring. Another
place to find good loot is underneath the lifts at a ski
area after the snow is gone. Once
I found a nice Timex watch, still ticking away. We find
lots of small change and keep
our eyes peeled, hoping to find another tightly folded
twenty like we did many years ago.
(And people say there’s nothing to do up here
in the sticks...)
We are easily amused,
Daisy
~
Wednesday, March 3, 2004 8:30 a.m.
32 degrees, breezy, overcast
Our trees are awash with blue jays, crows, grosbeaks, and
starlings,
all filling the air with a wide range of sounds from
haunting melodic riffs to
raucous harsh exclamations. A dozen snow buntings have
just joined the mob,
trying to get a word in edgewise. Small patches of lawn
are slowly appearing by
the house, and the yard is a morass of muddy shale. I
always say that I will mark
the early clearings and plant snowdrops and crocuses
there for the following spring,
but the spots change from year to year, depending on
capricious winds that shape
the wintry drifts. Our earliest clump of snowdrops is
snuggled up against the house
on the eastern wall, but this year an unusual amount of
snow blew in from the east
and those beautiful white blossoms are still dormant
under lots of snow. One year
we peeled back a frozen carpet in April to find yellow
and purple crocuses already
abloom underneath. A whole flock of small birds has just
come to rest in a tree by
the road outside my window, but they left as abruptly as
they came. If you provide
nesting boxes for bluebirds or other species, now is the
time to clean the litter out.
Soon male bluebirds will be scoping out likely spots to
raise a brood or two, so
make the rounds and clear out the mouse beds and old
nests left over from last
season. I haven’t seen a weather report for today,
but it is pretty nice out right now.
Get out while you can; the indoor chores will still be
there when you come back inside.
Enjoy your day,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, March 2, 2004 8:30 a.m.
49 degrees, windy, partly sunny
A few short showers tapped gentle rhythms on our
tin roof during
the night, but we have been rain-free since dawn. When I
stepped outside
earlier I expected to be surrounded by drab dampness from
stem to stern,
but to my surprise there was blue sky gleaming behind
swiftly moving clouds.
The clouds were of many kinds and colors, shifting
quickly and sending shadows
dancing across the land. It is very windy, but not cold.
Yesterday we warmed all
the way up to sixty; although I was at work and not able
to take full advantage of
the gorgeous afternoon we threw the windows wide open and
enjoyed the fresh
spring-like air. Tall snowbanks are beginning to melt
down and they are very
grungy, full of road sand and bits of twig and leaf. The
sun is still playing tag
with clouds, but it is making fewer appearances. It looks
like this morning
will be the best part of the day, so get out and frolic
while you can.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Monday, March 1, 2004, 7:30 am
41 degrees, breezy, mostly sunny
Our streak of gorgeous weather is soon going to come to a
gentle close
with rain moving in later tonight. March won’t be
coming in like a lion... more like
a big fish or a frisky dolphin. Blackbirds welcomed the
morning sun with happy warbles
and whistles, and crows silently patrol the treeline.
Sheets and towels are spinning in the
back room; it will be a perfect day to hang them outside.
Yesterday’s ski outing took us
to a large abandoned beaver flow. We passed through some
old farmland with several
barbed wire fence crossings testing our sense of balance.
Scads of old and new rabbit
tracks crisscrossed the area, and several water holes
have recently appeared, with tracks
of big and small critters leading to and fro. The beaver
dam has been breached for years,
but it once was a huge one and the resulting pond covered
twenty acres or more. Some
of the dead trees are massive, and woodpeckers have been
busy excavating them for tasty
morsels. There was a large nest in the bottom of one tree
cavity, brimful of frozen water,
a little ice skating rink for squirrels. Many of the
holes revealed a rotten interior full of tunnels
and chambers made by various grubs and larvae of large
insects. One tree had several large
black beetles resting inside, shiny and still. On the
return trip, tall evergreens started to sway
in the wind, and soon the noise became a roar; not the
wind, but a medical helicopter flying
low, no doubt on its way to a back-country emergency of
some kind. When we skied into
the last meadow the breeze had picked up considerably,
but the sun was warm and the final
downhill run was glorious! Every winter has one or two
perfect ski trips,
and this was just about as perfect as it gets.
Have a perfectly wonderful day,
Daisy
~
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