On Sunday, the weather was fine but very brisk, even by Maine standards. There was a wind—not a gentle one—and with the windchill it felt even colder, below zero.

Nevertheless, faithful blogging friend that I am, I headed to Marancook Lake in hopes of seeing some ice fishing shacks to photograph. I know that blogging friends who live in warmer climates are fascinated by the notion of ice fishing, which is a yearly event in Maine.

But Sunday’s cold snap aside, this winter has been warmer than average, and the lakes have been slow to freeze. Last week when I went to Lake Marancook, there were no ice fishing shacks. Taken from our local paper, here are the guidelines that prudent folks follow: “The state recommends keeping off any ice that is not at least 4 inches thick. It’s recommended that snowmobiles need at least 5 to 6 inches, and cars and small trucks need 8 to 12.”

Had the week been cold enough for the ice to freeze 4 inches thick? Would there be ice fishing shacks?

Just barely. I found two shacks rather than the lively village that is usually on the lake this time of year. In the photo below, you can just barely see them in the distance.

Here’s a closer view.

And closer still.

Those who have taken pictures in cold weather know that it is really hard to do so wearing gloves. (Perhaps there are special gloves for cold-weather photographers?) Therefore with bare stinging hands, I took these pictures, and I did not dawdle to admire the views. Snap, snap, snap, and I was back in the relative warmth of the car.

I drove home the long way around, going by the Narrows Ponds, where there were more ice fishing shacks. But there were too many cars in the small off-road parking area, and if the weather allows, I will take a walk sometime this week to see if I can get some more pictures of ice shacks.

Here’s a final picture from Sunday’s Maranacook Lake series. Just in case in anyone needs a reminder.

Stay warm all you hardy souls who live in the frozen north!

Last Friday was the kind of January day that makes a Mainer glad to be alive. The sun was shining and the sky was a brilliant blue that only comes in winter. A good afternoon to be out, but as my holiday vacation is over, I had much work to do, and it therefore fell to Clif to do various errands.

“But take the camera,” I said. “And get some pictures.”

“All right,” Clif said, and off he went.

Winthrop is a town of lakes, ponds, and streams. While not an island, our town is surrounded by water, which brings life and beauty to the area. After seeing the pictures of drought from blogging friends in different parts of the world, I have come to greatly appreciate all the water we have in Winthrop.

On that beautiful sunny Friday, Clif headed to Maranacook Lake, about a mile and half from our home, in the opposite direction of the Narrows Ponds. There is a public beach, where our daughters learned to swim. There is a sweet little park with picnic tables and grills, a perfect place to sit and relax on warm sunny days.

But in January, there are no swimmers or picnickers, and the beach and park are empty.

Instead, we have sky, snow, and mostly water, some of it frozen, some not. Note: I did not fiddle with the colors at all. They are exactly as Clif took them.

In a usual winter, life on the beach and the park heads out onto the ice, where fishing shacks are set up, and hardy souls go fishing. The frozen lake becomes a village where people fish and talk and laugh and children play. While I am not into ice fishing, I always enjoy seeing the villages, a bright accent in a frozen world.

Unfortunately, there are no ice shacks on the lake. As the open water by the shore indicates, the weather just hasn’t been cold enough.

But a cold snap is coming, and February is often as brisk as January. So there might be time yet.

Clif and I will be watching.

It has been over a week since a right-wing mob attacked and ransacked the Capitol—1/6 is a new date to remember for its infamy. Right now, silver linings are pretty hard to find, but I can offer you the story of a hero, of how Eugene Goodman, a lone Capitol police officer, using himself as bait, lured the mob away from the Senate Chamber. I am in awe of how this man had the courage and the presence of mind to do this. I salute you, Eugene Goodman. I also salute Huffington Post reporter Igor Bobic, who filmed the event on his phone.

Closer to home, January continues to provide cool solace for the ills of this country. Many people in the north dislike January because of the long nights and cold days. I am not one of those people. I have always found January to be beautiful and brilliant yet soothing, a time to reflect and rest before boisterous Spring makes her appearance.

Here is a January picture of the Lower Narrows, peeping through the lacy fingers of the trees and bushes.

What would Friday Favorites be without a Tiny Desk Concert and the solace of music? This time the fabulous Andrew Bird, who not only can play and sing but also whistle like, well, a bird. As someone in the Tiny Desk comments section asked, “Is it wrong, do you think, to envy someone’s whistling ability?”

To read about more favorites from blogging friends from around the world:

Thistles and Kiwis, who surely eats better than most people I know.

All Things Bright and Beautiful: Really, Ju-Lyn? A cobra?

How quiet Christmas is this year. No wrapping of presents—all have been sent directly from where they were ordered—no rushing to clean the house, no flurry of cooking and baking. Less stress, to be sure, but also much, much less fun. As Clif noted, it hardly feels like Christmas.

In the guest bedroom, there is a stack of presents for us, which we will open via Zoom with the kids tonight on Christmas Eve. But without the kids actually being here, somehow things just don’t feel right. While we certainly appreciate their generosity, it is the presence of the kids that  really makes the holidays special.

Next Christmas, I hope, will be better with a big pot of chili and other goodies, with kids and family and friends and movies and lots of laughter.

I expect this will be a quiet holiday season for most of you. But I wish you all a good one nonetheless.

I’ll be taking a break from blogging, reading as well as writing, from now until the new year.  It will give me a chance to rest and gather my energies for 2021, when I will begin work on Book Four of my Great Library Series and record my podcast Tales from the Other Green Door, a spinoff of Out of Time.

Stay safe, be well. A vaccine will soon be available to us all, and life will open up again.

See you all in 2021!

Time was when Clif and I and our daughters hand shoveled and scooped our driveway, which is neither long nor wide. For some reason, it was a chore that Clif and I didn’t mind doing.

But then the years passed. Our daughters moved far away, and we—ahem—were no longer as spry or as strong as we were in our younger days. One Christmas, Dee took pity on her aging parents and bought us an electric snow-thrower, which I promptly dubbed “Little Green.”

Here is Clif with Little Green last winter.

Last Friday, when Clif took out Little Green to clean the snow left behind from our first snowstorm, he had an unpleasant surprise as he turned it on—a loud grinding noise and then nothing. Fortunately, the snow was light and fluffy, and clearing the driveway and walks didn’t require much effort. We were done within an hour.

Because we are Mainers, we always try to fix things when they break. Always. This trait has been passed down by our frugal ancestors. It is in our DNA. So Clif brought Little Green into our dining room. (Little Green is light and easy to carry.) When Clif set Little Green down, there was a mighty rattle, as though marbles were rolling around inside.

No, not marbles. Instead, acorns. Lots of them. Some enterprising rodent had decided that Little Green would be the perfect place to store nuts.

Those acorns snapped both belts, which is why Little Green wouldn’t throw snow.

After much measuring, Clif ordered belts.

Fingers crossed that they arrive before we have a major storm.

If not, Clif and I will go back to shoveling.

Oh, that rascally rodent!

Yesterday we had snow, but today the sun is shining in a deep blue sky.  To a Mainer, few things are as invigorating as light, fluffy snow and crisp air. I realize this might be hard to understand for those of you in warmer climates. But remember, I was born in Maine and have lived here for most of my life. To me, snow and winter go together like blueberries and muffins.

After breakfast, outside I went to take pictures. I will admit that my bare hands were chilly, but still it was fun to take in the beauty while taking pictures.

Here is a picture of our house nestled in the snow. The red makes it look festive, I know.

Out back, I always enjoy looking at the stonewall, a reminder of when the whole area behind our house was fields, not woods.

Then I turned my attention to small things, which are really my favorite subjects.

A fallen branch,

and a branch still on the tree.

My holiday wish is that winter brings us more storms like this, where the snow is light, and the power stays on.

Good things from fellow bloggers:

Barbara, from Thistles and Kiwis, notes her not-so-small pleasure of being formally recognized as a New Zealand citizen. Congratulations, Barbara!

From The Curious Introvert, The Week in Seven Photos, that features darling Harper, Baby Yoda, and a Christmas Tree made of books, one of which just happens to be my very own Library Lost.

And last, but certainly not least, from Canberra’s Green Spaces, a post that highlights a live koala in a Christmas tree, kangaroos lounging in a park, a generous gardener, an adorable dog named Charlie, and much more.  What a place!

Today is the right kind of snowy day.  Quite cold—17° F—which makes the snow light and fluffy, and there isn’t much wind to speak of.  This combination means that there are no power outages in the forecast. Music to my ears.

Although I don’t usually post on Thursday, I couldn’t resist featuring these pictures of a male cardinal in the snow. I figured blogging friends who have neither snow nor cardinals would enjoy seeing them. And it’s my guess that blogging friends who have both wouldn’t mind seeing them either.

Any way you look at it, winter has come to northern New England, and I love its sparseness every bit as much as I love the vibrant colors of spring, summer, and fall.

Note: These pictures were taken with my wee camera from the bathroom window, which I opened. The feeder is probably twenty feet away. And the light, shall we say, was not the brightest.