Monday, February 16, 2015

frozen, but still capable of random thoughts

I feel compelled to write about how cold it is.
It is cold, dangerously cold, I am sure record cold temps were set last night. There is a sickening chill near the walls of my little cottage,as there should be with a still air temperature of -24F at 9AM, the suns rays which are dazzling off the snow cover but don't seem to be doing much as the temp has only risen 2 degrees since I arose at 6AM. This kind of weather is lethal.

Yes, it is cold here, we are on the windward side of the hill near the top, the elevation marker near the edge of my property states 1971 feet above sea level. And ,no,this is not the coldest still air temperature I have ever experienced, that was -38F which is painful.


Still I am monumentally grateful, because these are not temps we see often, and they will pass into our mythos and memory quickly. By June the people who are saying they will never complain about the heat of summer again, will already be complaining. It seems to me that weather is a very good thing to complain about, probably because we are all very familiar with it and it seldom if ever offends anyone when one complains about it.


So here I sit, listening to Christmas music, which makes my heart warm, and being very grateful that I have reached an age where I can stay home and tend the hearth fire. Also being grateful that I can still do that with ease. Grateful that this will pass quickly, unlike the mountains of snow that blanket coastal New England. Being grateful that I only need to go outside if I want too, and I am curious to see what it is like out there and I have a pail of  peels and parings that need tossed on the compost pile.  But for now I am content and graceful to be typing away and watching the ice ferns slowly melt off the windows.

My little home has seen 150 plus winters, and all were different. Braving the strong winds that have probably driven snow through it's double boarded walls, and seen it's first floor windows partially covered in snow, while icicles as big as a man's leg hung from it's eves. Then there was the year the forsythia bloomed in December.


So I will be here all day drinking coffee, or tea may-be. Lemonade sounds good, baking and stoking the fire.  

 
Be Safe out there, guys!
 
 
 

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