In Maine, 2013 certainly went out with a bang. We had an ice storm, and while it wasn’t as bad as the Great Ice Storm of ’98, it was bad enough. As it wove its icy path through central Maine and beyond, the storm knocked out power in many, many homes, just in time for Christmas, one of the busiest times of the year. We lost our power on Monday, December 23 and got it back Wednesday, December 25.

I’ll write more in a day or two, but I do want to assure readers that at the little house in the big woods, we are well prepared for ice storms and power outages. We were snug and warm and had plenty to eat, enough so that we were able to invite our friend Diane to join us on Christmas Eve. Within and without, the house was lit with lanterns, and Diane said it was charming to eat by the flickering lamps.

Clif and I are still recovering from all the excitement and brouhaha of the ice storm, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve. The house is nearly back to normal, and as I write, another storm—this time snow—is making its way up the East Coast.

Happy New Year to all! Given that we don’t have another power outage, I should be back on schedule in the next day or two.

Nothing strikes fear into a Mainer’s heart quicker than the words “ice storm.” Those of us who have been here for a while will never forget the great ice storm of ’98, where at its peak a half-million people were without power, and the little house in the big woods was without power for 11 days. Because we have a well, this meant we had to haul every bit of water we used. As Shannon is fond of saying, “I was so happy to leave and go back to college.” Who can blame her?

This ice storm is supposed to be much less severe. So far, we haven’t lost our power, and we are doing all that we can, just in case. Yesterday, I made a double batch of pie knots and a quadruple batch of thumb-print cookies. Clif is working on the peanut butter balls as I write. As soon as I’m done with this post, I will vacuum. We have cans of tomato soup and baked beans in the cupboards. And lots of water stored in various containers.

We’re keeping our fingers crossed that all will be well, that we won’t lose our power. However, I have to grudgingly admit, and ice storm does make things pretty.

 Onward and upward! We hope 😉

The countdown really starts, and freezing rain is in the forecast for the weekend. Hoo-boy! I hope we don’t lose our power. Just in case, I will be filling my stockpots with water. I hate it when it rains in the winter. Given that we don’t lose our power, I will be making thumb print cookies and pie knots for the holidays. (Perhaps I’ll make them tomorrow, before the storm comes. Just in case.) Power or not, we can still make peanut butter balls, using our camp stove.

Yesterday, someone who shall remain nameless chastised me for wishing him a happy holiday. “You can say Merry Christmas, and I won’t be offended,” he said in a snarky tone.

“Happy holidays covers it all,” I replied in what I hoped was a breezy manner.

I remain unrepentant. Happy holidays does indeed cover it all. Not everyone is a Christian. Not everyone celebrates Christmas, and as I had just met Mr. Snarky a few hours before wishing him happy holidays, I had no idea what his inclinations or beliefs were.

Therefore, readers, happy holidays to you all. May your power stay on, may your celebrations be merry, and may you eat some wonderful food.

From NPR’s the salt: A nuanced look at meat and dairy consumption. One of the sensible conclusions: Those of us who can afford to eat meat should eat less of it.

From the Washington Post: An experimental way of growing rice in Maryland.

From the New Yorker: Whole Foods comes to Brooklyn. An interesting side note: John Mackey, the C.E.O., is a “staunch libertarian and free-market devotee” who nonetheless doesn’t object to federal subsidies for his stores. Sure thing.

From Salon: While we are on the subject of retail stores…Joan Walsh takes a look at “How America Created a Low-Wage Work Swamp.” According to research from the University of California-Berkeley’s Labor Center and the University of Illinois, “[f]ully 52 percent of fast-food workers’ families receive public assistance – most of it coming from Medicaid, food stamps and the Earned Income Tax Credit.”

On a happier note…from the Portland Press Herald: The winner of the holiday cookie contest—Kransekake Sticks Dipped in Chocolate. Sounds delicious!

Last night, we had our annual book club Christmas party at the library. At this party, we don’t discuss a particular book. Instead, it has become the tradition for group members to tell of one or two books that were personal favorites over the past year. Shane, the intrepid leader of book group, duly notes our recommendations and then sends them via email to everyone in the the book club. Good thing. I have a terrible memory, and while there were many recommendations I was interested in, I’ll be darned if I can remember the titles.

My book recommendation was George Elliot’s Middlemarch. At 888 pages, it’s an astonishing page-turner that kept me reading like a crazy person, even when I should have been doing other things such as housework or cooking or getting ready for Christmas. A masterpiece, that’s for sure.

Along with talking about books, we were also encouraged to deck ourselves in Christmas finery, and to no one’s surprise, the ever natty Mona Baker took first place. There was even a prize—a delicious cheese spread made by Sharon Presti.

On a touching note, Patrice Putman told how aside from her husband and her children, her greatest love was her library card. To her way of thinking, having a good library is essential to having a good life. With a library card, Patrice said, you can read anything and thus go anywhere. (I’m paraphrasing, of course.) As she spoke, we all nodded our heads in agreement, and Margy Knight told of how as a child coming from a big family, the library card was the first thing she had that was truly hers.

Many of us brought cookies to share—I made gingersnaps—and by the end we were not only filled with sweets but also with good cheer and the love of libraries.

And so, dear readers, wherever you live, cherish your libraries and support them anyway you can.

Sunday was a snowy, blowy day. Outside, Clif and Little Green cleaned the driveway, and although we didn’t measure, I would guess there were 9 or 10 inches of snow. Nothing to get excited about in central Maine, especially when the snow is as light as it was on Sunday.

Inside, I made a double batch of gingersnaps. They will be going to various “elves” as well as a special friend who hasn’t been well. There will be more gingersnaps to come, for a party at the library and for a party where Clif works. ‘Tis the season. I estimated it took me an hour and half—from beginning to clean-up—to make a double batch of gingersnaps, which gives me 60 cookies.

When I think about my Christmas cooking, I would have to admit that none of it is what you would call fancy. Gingersnaps, thumb-print cookies, sugar cookies, peanut butter balls. But they are special to our family, mainly because we don’t have them on a regular basis. (The same is true for apple pie or crisp or gingerbread.) Since we don’t have them very often, these sweets and desserts are a real treat for the holidays.

After making cookies, I headed outside to finish the clean-up, using a shovel to get to places to where Little Green couldn’t go. Naturally, I took a few pictures.

The little house in the big woods is nestled in the snow, tucked into winter, waiting for the full moon and for the winter solstice.

The Christmas countdown continues, and we’ve had our first cancellation due to an impending storm. On Saturday, we were supposed to go to Shannon and Mike’s for a holiday meal, and our friend Diane was invited, too. But a storm is blowing up from the South, and 12 or so inches of snow are predicted. It is disappointing to stay home, but as Shannon noted, that’s how it is in Maine from November through April. You never know when weather is going to interfere with your plans. Well, there is always plenty to do around the house, and even more this time of year. There are cookies to make and presents to wrap. And we’ll also sneak in a movie or two. Maybe I’ll even pickup some eggnog. If it’s going to storm, then we might as well enjoy eggnog with a splash of cognac, a drink so rich that one is plenty.

From NPR’s the salt: The second instalment of The Hobbit will soon be at a cinema near you, and what better way to celebrate than with a Lord of the Rings marathon complete with food based on Middle-Earth delicacies?

One more from the salt: Preliminary evidence that a plant-based diet is good for those microbes that lurk in the gut.

From the New York Times: Promising research that organic milk really is better for you than conventional milk.

From the blog Craftivist in the Kitchen: A response to my post on celebrating Christmas. Shari also shares her Christmas traditions.

Another point of view about Christmas from the blog Ben Hewitt: Ben explains why he doesn’t celebrate Christmas. Instead, his family celebrates the winter solstice.

From the Portland Press Herald: Meredith Goad gives mouth-watering recommendations for “local gift ideas for the foodie on your list.” I’ve already tried one of the olive oils—the Meyer lemon—from Fiore, and it was terrific. And I must admit that Harbor Candy Shop in Ogunquit is calling my name.

A fine, clear, cold day in the neighborhood. After I bundled up—heavy sweater, leggings under my pants, a hat, which I hate wearing—the dog and I headed to the Narrows. The sky was a deep blue, and a crow followed us, sometimes calling in a high pitched voice, sometimes clicking and clacking. The dog barked, and I smiled. Neither of us understands crow, and not for the first time, I wished I “could talk to the animals.”

Taking pictures at the Narrows, especially on a cold day, requires a bit of juggling. Off come the gloves, to go on the ground beside me. As there is hardly any shoulder by the Narrows, I must shorten the dog’s retractable leash—he does like to leap at cars—and grip it between my knees. Where is the sun? How is the picture framed? With freezing fingers and a dog to worry about, I hardly have time to ask myself these questions. Never mind. Today the light was so good and the Narrows so bright and beautiful that it almost didn’t matter. Any shot would come out well.

After I took pictures, we walked farther on before turning around, when the wind hit us squarely. My face stung, and my eyes watered. The wind parted the dog’s hair, and we pressed forward.

When I got home, time for a cup of tea. How good it tasted, and despite the cold, how good it felt to get out and go for a walk.

With such beauty around me and the time to enjoy it, I sometimes feel as though I must be one of the luckiest women in Winthrop.

Today I decided to take a walk by the stream in back of the house. Almost within sight of my backyard, the stream has been beckoning to me as it winds through the dark woods on its way to the Narrows Pond. It has been a long time since I walked along the stream. Today, the snow was not deep in the woods. Today, it was not too cold. So after I made raspberry squares for the library meeting tonight, I found my winter boots and my camera, gathered the dog, and headed out back.

In my imaginings, the dog and I would walk quite a while by the stream. Maybe not down to the Narrows, but at least far enough to leave our house and yard behind. Alas, reality and imaginings don’t always coincide. I hadn’t counted on the snow-covered leaves being so slippery. I hadn’t remembered the banks of the stream being so steep. As I inched my way along, with the dog trotting lightly ahead of me, I looked for a stick to help steady myself. I found one, and as I crossed a hilly ledge that went from one side of the stream to the other, I idly reflected on how much it would cramp Christmas if I fell and broke either an arm or a leg.

This vision of handicap trumped the vision of walking by the stream, and I decided it was time to turn around. Before I did, I stopped for a bit, listening to the sound of water rushing under a skim of ice. Not far from where I stood, I saw animal tracks—deer and squirrels and who knows what else. Beyond the animal tracks was a great tree that had fallen, reminding me of the bleached skeleton of a whale.

Slowly, slowly, I made my way back to the house, where I found a package—a Daedalus order—waiting for me. I hadn’t gone very far, but I had heard the stream and had felt the presence of the forest.  I was chilly enough for a cup of tea and ready for a sample of the raspberry bars.

The dog was ready, too, and after sharing a bar with me, he took a nap in his spot by my desk while I wrote this piece.

Next time the dog and I walk in the woods, we will stick to the trails. My knees are simply too stiff to deal with slippery banks. Still, it was a fine thing to stand by the stream and listen to the water and to feel the forest all around me.