Today, I flipped the calendar from February to March, and I said in a grumbling voice, “Oh, boy! Here it comes.”

Long-time readers might recall how much I hate the month of March, and I know many, if not most, Mainers feel the same way. March—damp, muddy, and soggy—is such a miserable month in Maine that it deserves to be labeled a season unto itself. Potholes the size of the Grand Canyon open in our roads, and yesterday I almost lost the car in one not far from our mailbox. (Yay for the Winthrop road crew, who bravely came this morning to fill the hole. I don’t think any of the crew disappeared, never to be found.) Little kids lose their boots in the mud. Adults walk hunched over, waiting for spring. Dear blogging friends, if ever you decide to come to Maine, do not come in March.

For those who have birthdays in this month, thank goodness for you all. I salute you, even though you didn’t have any choice in the matter. You are the bright points in otherwise dismal month.

In anticipation of the March blues, I have filled the month with interesting activities—a concert, a lecture, a movie, a friend over for pizza, See’s chocolates, and—ta, dah!—an anniversary outing. Yes, Clif and I got married in the not-so-lovely month of March. What can I say?  We were both college students and getting married on our spring break seemed like the thing to do. It was the 1970s. We were more casual back then.

This first day of March brings the return of Snow-gauge Clif, who will be making weekly appearances until all the snow is gone, probably sometime in mid-April. He was such a hit last year, that we decided to bring him back.

Here is snow-gauge Clif in the front yard.

And here he is in the backyard.

Will there be more snowstorms this March? Does New York City have the best pizza? You bet there will, and one is slated for Sunday and Monday, eight inches of wet, heavy snow.

Until then, bring on the chocolates, bring on the movies!

Yesterday, on my way to pick up the Sunday paper, I decided to swing by the lake to see if the ice-fishing village had expanded.  It had.  And although the pictures don’t indicate this, it was actually quite lively on the ice, with people calling to each other and moving between shacks.

I think this little green shack looks especially fetching as it peeks through the branches.

And this shot gives an idea as to how close to shore some of them are.

While I was taking pictures, I heard the muffled roars of far-off snowmobiles, which, as someone who cares about the environment, I know I am not supposed to like. However, as a Mainer who rode on snowmobiles when she was  young, I have a soft spot for them.

Growing up in the 1960s and 1970s, I had what is now referred to as a “free-range childhood.” When I was eight, we moved to the rural town of North Vassalboro, and I was allowed to roam the fields and woods as I wanted.

This was not unusual back then. My friends had the same freedom, and somehow we set reasonable limits on ourselves, with our range being about a mile’s radius from where we lived.

We climbed trees, we rode ponies, we picked strawberries in backfields, and in the winter, as we got older, we rode snowmobiles. My parents had a little Arctic Cat with a pull starter that was easy for me to use. And off I went, sometimes by myself, sometimes with my friends, buzzing around the countryside but again, never straying much farther than a mile so so from home. Not exactly good for the environment, but oh so much fun as the sharp air hit our faces when we went up hill, down hill, and through the woods. Then back to a warm house for hot chocolate and cookies.

Funny how a trip to a frozen lake will bring back memories.

For the past few days, this is how it has been.

Cold but beautiful when I went to visit my friend who lives by the Upper Narrows Pond.

And so chilly in the morning, this is what the storm windows looked like.

So what to do? Only one thing. Toast and tea, which makes the chilliest day a little better.

I hope all of my readers who live in a cold climate stay warm and cozy this weekend.

The week started on a good note, and it only improved as the days went by.

We began with pancakes, one of my favorite suppers. I know. Traditionally they are served for breakfast, but I am not a morning person and much prefer them at night. I hate to brag, but Clif makes the best pancakes. Ever.

From there, a couple of days later, it was on to pizza. I went to Cushnoc to meet friends for lunch and to celebrate the publication of Library Lost. We had very jolly time, and the pizza was utterly delicious.

Midweek, the weather turned cold, but even that had its advantages as Jack Frost left a beautiful ice fern on my bedroom window.

The week ended with lights on the deck.

And I had a little friend watch as I strung the lights.

Now, onward to the Christmas tree. Ho, ho, ho!

In the United States, today is Thanksgiving. Because we are taking a more honest look nowadays at exactly what happened in this country when the Pilgrims came over, the holiday has lost some of its luster. And rightly so. However, even though the scales might have fallen from our eyes, a day of gratitude where we celebrate the harvest with family and friends can only be a good thing.

And speaking of gratitude…yesterday, our neighbor, a young woman, came over bearing these little gems from the hens she keeps in her backyard.

What wonderful variety and color! I tried to pay her for the eggs, but she wouldn’t take any money.

This brings us to another g word—generosity. When the two words—gratitude and generosity—are twined together, the world is definitely a better place.

So on this holiday, I am grateful for the generosity of my neighbor, who gave me these eggs without expecting anything in return.

And while I am on the subject of gratitude, I also want to express thanks for my many blogging friends near and far. You all make my world a brighter place, that’s for sure.

Many, many thanks!