Category Archives: Nature

Food, Home, Nature

Catching Snow As It Falls

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Yesterday was a lovely snowy day. Unlike freezing rain or sleet, this is exactly the sort of weather Maine should get in February. Before eating a breakfast of oatmeal and dried cranberries, I grabbed my wee camera and tried to get some pictures of the falling snow.  While easy for the human eye to see, snowflakes are not easy for my camera to catch. (When I was a child, I remember tipping my head back, opening my mouth to the sky and letting the snow sprinkle my tongue.)

Can you spot the snow as it falls against Sparky, our red Honda Fit?

The snow is easier to see here, against the brown of the tree trunks and the red of our little shed and wheelbarrow. With all the red we have around our place, including on our house, you might think red is my favorite color. But it isn’t. Instead, blue is. Go figure.

Here again, the falling snow is visible against the tree trunks in the woods in our backyard.

I couldn’t resist taking a picture of our clothesline, which hasn’t had anything hanging on it since fall. Well, it has something now.

Early afternoon, it stopped snowing, and Clif went out with Little Green to clean the driveway and the walkway.

And what did we have for “suppah,” as we Mainers call it? A vegan beefy stew with Quorn Meatless Grounds and umami-ed with veggie Better Than Bouillon and nutritional yeast. Clif and I might be vegetarians, but we still like that rich gravy taste, and this soup gives us just what we want. I also made biscuits with oat milk to go with the soup.

My Yankee husband’s response? Pretty darned good. And the best thing about this soup is that as the flavors mingle, it’s even better on the second and third day.

No freezing rain. Soup and biscuits for supper. Who could ask for anything more?

 

 

 

Nature

And So It Begins…Sleet and Freezing Rain

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This morning, when I asked my husband Clif to describe the weather outside, he said, “Miserable.” Clif got it exactly right. The weather—a mix of sleet and freezing rain—is indeed miserable, and it’s supposed to continue until late afternoon.

The thermometer indicates that the temperature is at that exact sweet spot for continued freezing rain.

And here’s a photo of our front steps before Clif put salt on them.

My indicator for ice accumulation is this bush outside my window.

So far, not too bad, but we have many more hours of this weather to go.

Naturally, we are prepared for a power outage. A full bucket of water sits in the tub—for us, no power means no water—and there is a fire in our wood furnace. We have turned up the electric heat to the point where the house is warmer than it has been since early fall. Better to start out with a warm house if the power goes out.

Fingers (and toes) crossed that we keep our power.

Stay tuned!

 

Food for Thought, Nature

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like…March

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By Maine standards, we are having an extremely mild winter. While we have had a cold day here and there, for the most part the weather has been in the 30s and 40s, not at all typical for Maine in January and now February.

We haven’t had much snow, either, and in sunny spots in town, the snow is pretty much gone. Because we live in the woods, we still have some snow, but it has pulled away from the road, and it seems that we are in late March rather than February.

Readers, it is just plain weird to have weather like this in Maine in mid-winter.

Here is a picture of our road taken in February of last year.

Here is a picture taken yesterday when Clif and I went on a Sunday walk up the road.

As you can see, there is quite a difference. Now, for those who live in a warmer climate, it might seem strange to complain about weather that is still chilly but is warmer than usual for this time of year. And to mourn the lack of snow.

But I was born in Maine and have lived here for most of my sixty-two years. To me, winter means snow and cold, and it feels wrong to have it otherwise. One mild winter by itself would not be a cause for concern, but I am old enough to remember when we did not have ticks, Japanese Beetles, cardinals, or red-bellied woodpeckers. Lots of changes in sixty years.

There are some good things about a mild winter. The ice on the sidewalks and driveways is mostly gone, and it is easier to get around. Warmer weather also makes it less expensive to heat the house, and this is a blessing for those of us who live on a tight budget

On one hand, on the other hand. We humans love to weigh things and make comparisons, to note the bad and the good.

But some of us wonder what it will be like ten years from now, in Maine and around the world.

 

Nature, People

Impossible Blue

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In central Maine, today is a perfect example of the exquisite beauty of winter’s light. On Saturday, we had seven more inches of snow, but on Sunday the weather cleared, and now the skies are an impossible blue. Only in January and February, with the cold weather, do we get this kind of piercing clarity.

After going to a Martin Luther King Jr. breakfast at the local Catholic church, we stopped by the lake to take pictures of the sky and the snow and the trees. And, of course, the ice-fishing shacks.

Some people have their own kind of piercing clarity, and surely Martin Luther King Jr. was one such man.  It seems appropriate, then, to end with a few of his quotations:

There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies.

And…

There comes a time when silence is betrayal.

Finally…

Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.

Yes.

 

 

 

Home, Nature

A Chocolate Box House?

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Yesterday we had snow, and I am happy to report it was a Goldilocks’s storm where we got exactly the right amount—about six inches—and it wasn’t too wet or too heavy. No problem at all for Clif and Little Green, our trusty electric snow thrower.

Outside, it was a world of quiet and white with a touch of color here and there. Midwinter in Maine.

This morning when I got up, the sky had cleared and the temperature had dropped.

Out I went to take a picture of our snug, cozy home.

I hope I’m not being too presumptuous by borrowing a description from my friends across the pond to describe our home. That is, a chocolate box house.

More snow is predicted for Saturday, another seven inches or so. Again, just the right amount of snow.

Clif and Little Green will be ready. And who knows? Maybe snow-gauge Clif will soon make an appearance.

 

Food for Thought, Nature

Living in Place

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For a New Year’s resolution, Clif and I have made a plan to use our car less and thus reduce our carbon emmissions. Our intention is to cut 1,000 miles from our yearly total, which was 7,800 last year.

Because we live in a rural community with no public transportation, a car is a necessity for us.  We must drive to the grocery store, and we must travel to sell books. Nevertheless there are plenty of ways to cut back, and one way is to become more involved with our town—Winthrop—which has a fantastic library and a new brewery, both of which sponsor many events each month. (This Friday night at the brewery is trivia night. Yes, we will be there.)

Another way is to go for walks and appreciate the natural beauty of the town itself, including our very own wooded road.

Whatever the season, there is something to notice. Sometimes the trees even look back.

As we walk, the crows are always watching. I was lucky to snap a picture of these two before they flew away.

Then there are the brown leaves on the winter trees,

and the little stream that winds through the woods not far from where we live.

I call this kind of close attention “living in place,” and it seems to me that focusing on what is nearby is a kind of meditation, which, in turn, can lead to an abiding of love of where one lives—town, city, country, or suburb.

In this time of climate crisis, a love of place is of utmost importance. Because in the end, we pay attention to what we love. We nurture it. We take care of it. We don’t destroy it.

Viewed in this light, living in place might be the most important thing a person can do.

authorpages, Books, Nature

Don’t Mess with Time

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It was an eventful weekend. We went to two craft fairs and sold lots of books. Some people were repeat customers who were eager to read my second book, Library Lost. Always a good thing for an author to hear.

It was also the weekend where we set the clocks back an hour and went from daylight savings time to eastern standard time. I always live in dread of this weekend when we mess with time, and night comes crashing down an hour earlier. I am not a fan of short days and long nights, and, to my way of thinking, it would be easier to adapt if we could approach the long dark more gradually. Simply put, I wish we could do away with daylight savings time and stick to eastern standard time year round. This would allow for more light in the morning when people are heading to work and children are going to school. We would sacrifice an hour of light in the summer, but having dusk come at 8:00 p.m. instead of 9:00 p.m. should not be a hardship for too many people. Seems unlikely to happen, but I continue to hope.

At least three weeks behind schedule, the first hard frosts of the season came this weekend. This was the temperature when I got up this morning.

The frost nipped the nasturtiums. Although the orange flower is still perky, the leaves are decidedly droopy.

Autumn is a time of subtraction. First the hummingbirds go, then the geese, and many other birds follow. Butterflies migrate. Leaves fall. The crickets’ song has been stilled, and I miss the sweet sound.

Still, there is beauty in November’s austere landscape.

Looking down in my own yard,

and across the Kennebec River, about ten miles away from where we live.

Winter subtracts even more. But that is yet to come.

 

Home, Nature

That Golden, Dazzling Time of Year

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Here we are, heading toward late October, a special time of year for us as this was when our eldest daughter was born forty-two years ago. (Oh, my!) What a darling beautiful baby she was. I suppose most mothers think this about their babies, and rightly so. They are our best beloveds.

Speaking of beauty…in Maine it is all around us even though the storm took down many of the leaves.

When I look up

and when I look down.

Even the black-eyed Susans, which have dropped their petals, still glimmer in October.

In October, the landscape positively glows, partly because of the brilliant leaves and partly because of the way the sun, low in the sky, sends its dazzling light at a slant. As I sit at my desk, the month’s golden loveliness flickers in my peripheral vision, and I find myself gazing outside far more than I should. (Fantasy novels don’t write themselves.)

Well, October comes but once a year, and it would be foolish not to drink in this glorious month. As with May, I wish I could hold onto October’s coattails and implore her to stay longer. “Don’t rush, don’t rush.”

But Nature is on her own schedule, and luminous October must give way to the muted russets of November.

Until then…