Another week, another nor’easter is blowing up the East Coast. The snowstorm is supposed to hit us tonight and tomorrow, leaving between a foot and a foot and a half of snow. March snowstorms are not unusual in Maine, but this year takes the cake, as the saying goes. Three nor’easters in two weeks is a bit much, even for us. In short, it’s been a doozy of a March.

Instead of brooding about yet another major storm, I have decided to focus on the Kennebec River, which flows through central Maine as it makes its way to the Atlantic Ocean. Yesterday, in between doing errands, I took pictures of the Kennebec, and the river shows how slowly, slowly spring is indeed coming to northern New England. Nor’easter be damned!

But first, as a reminder of just how icy things were, I am going to post a picture of the Kennebec River in January, when there was a deep freeze and then a quick thaw. Frozen river as far as the eye can see.

Here is what the Kennebec River looked like yesterday. All right, there is still snow and ice, but note the open water. For a Mainer, that counts as real progress toward spring.

Still, there are plenty of fascinating ice chunks. They almost look like rocks, don’t they? Those ice chunks are pretty darned thick.

Here is a closer look.

And then there is this for a mini-iceberg look.

In the upcoming weeks, I’ll be taking more pictures as the river continues to thaw, and spring, in its fitful way, comes to central Maine. I’m also thinking of taking weekly pictures of my little patch of land so that readers unused to deep winter can watch with amazement as our snowbound yard is released.

Somehow, this cycle of freeze, thaw, and rebirth never seems stale or repetitious to me.  Each year, with amazement, I note the changes, and although it is the oldest story in the world, it always seems new to me.

Rivers, ponds, lakes, forests, and even yards all have their stories to tell for those who care to look.

Ice, snow, and trapped leaves. Winter is still here. While I’m looking forward to spring, I’m dreading what comes next—mud and grit.

At least the snow and ice are clean and beautiful.

I know. Today is Thursday, which means I’m one day early with my Five for Friday. But Storm Quinn arrived last night, a little later than expected, and he has thrown our schedules off kilter.

Yesterday, we spent a good part of the day getting ready for Storm Quinn. In the evening, Clif fretted about us losing our power, and he got up in the middle of the night to put wood in the furnace. Not knowing this, I got up early to tend the furnace, and I was mighty grateful to see a nice bed of coals. Then, before breakfast, Clif and I had to clean the steps, driveway, and walkway so that Liam could do his business.

All in all, a hectic morning. Nevertheless, I still found time to take some pictures, and I found five worth sharing. “Why wait for tomorrow?” I asked myself. “Why not share them today, while Storm Quinn is still news?” Hence Five for Friday on Thursday.

But before I share the snowy pictures, I’ll provide a brief weather report for Winthrop, Maine. We got about a foot of snow—not too heavy—and hardly any wind. Really, for us, it has been an average snowstorm. Thus far, we haven’t lost our power, and I am cautiously optimistic that we won’t. As has been the case with so many storms, southern coastal Maine got hit the hardest with wind, and there are thousands of people in that part of the state without power.

Also, I understand that New Jersey and parts of New York got walloped with too much heavy snow and power outages. Sigh. I hope the sun comes out and melts away the snow. And I certainly hope that people get their power back soon.

Here are my five snowy-day pictures from our early-morning clean-up.

Clif, of course, was out with Little Green.

Liam explored his reduced kingdom.

Gideon, our little guardian of the backyard, has been pushed sideways. He looks unhappy, don’t you think?

Our feathered friends, understandably hungry, flocked to the feeder.

Finally, my clothesline is waiting for spring.

And so am I!

Today is Wednesday, and on my blog that usually means “Wordless Wednesday,” where just a photo is featured. I had it all planned, with this picture of a marsh, which really needs no words. Such a lovely place, and right off a busy highway, too. You never know where you’re going to find pockets of beauty.

However, we have another storm blowing up the East Coast, a Nor’easter, as we call such a storm. Maine got lucky with the last storm, which veered out to sea and just scraped our coast. But Maine is right in the path of this one—dubbed Storm Quinn—and it’s supposed to hit us tonight, dumping a foot or more of heavy snow, followed by wind. And a foot of heavy snow with wind means…power outages.

So on Friday, I’ll either be back on the computer with pictures of the storm, or I’ll be posting from my phone. (We bought battery back-up chargers for the phones this week, and they are all charged and waiting. What timing!)

At any rate, we are prepared as usual. I made bread yesterday, and Clif went to the store to stock up on other things we might need. Tonight, I’ll fill big pots with water because, as I’ve previously written, in our house, no power means no water.

March certainly marches on. Onward, ho!

The other day, when I came home from doing errands, our yard was filled with the beautiful light that comes just before dusk. Time to take some pictures On one side of our driveway is the forest, and it was awash in the golden glow of the setting sun.

On the other side of our driveway is our small front yard. Last fall, I left a few of the sturdier ornaments in the garden, and there they were, just peeking over the deep snow.

From sublime to silly all in the same yard. Sometimes, point of view depends upon which way you look.

I know. The title of this post evokes Alfred Hitchcock, Jimmy Stewart, Grace Kelly, and murder. However my rear window is a lot  different from the one portrayed in the movie. Instead of giving a view of a neighbor’s apartment, my rear window looks out into the backyard and the forest just beyond.

However, I will admit that from time to time there is murder. We have bird feeders in the backyard, and occasionally a hawk or an owl will attack one of the many rodents or birds that come to eat. Not something I care to see or dwell on, but of course predators have to make their living, too.

Mostly, however, aside from some harmless squabbling, there is relative peace at the feeders. The rear window in our bathroom gives me a perfect view of the birds and animals, and it serves as a sort of blind. If I raise the windows ever so slowly, I don’t scare any of the creatures, and I am able to get some pretty good shots with my wee wonder of a camera.

Here is a picture of a nuthatch and a goldfinch. The nuthatch appears to have a seed in its beak, and I love the black dot of the eye set in white. If you look closely, you will notice a fizz of snow going across the feeder.  Yes, it was spitting snow again, but it is after all February in Maine, which means that we are only halfway through winter.

Squirrels, of course, come to our feeders as well, and we even throw a bit of seed on the ground for them and for the other animals that feed on the ground. I know squirrels are not universally loved by those who feed birds, but as long as they don’t raid the feeders, then I don’t mind them at all. In fact, I enjoy watching them. On the feeder by the squirrels, there is a baffle on the pole that does a fine job of ensuring that the seed goes to the birds.

I’m always tickled with the way the stalks of bee balm look against the snow. They remind me of the legs of some skittering animal that perhaps comes to life at night, when no humans are looking. Then, at dawn, it returns to its snow nest, and only the spindly legs are visible.

Finally, here is a shot of the cool, green, mysterious forest that begins at the edge of our yard.  While I love the colors of spring, summer, and fall, I also am taken with the muted colors of winter. I find them restful, soothing even. To me, winter is a welcome respite from the joyous burst of life—birth, growth, and preparation—that the other seasons bring.