It’s official. The snow is so deep in the backyard that the cellar windows are completely blocked, and when you look out, all you see is a white wall. As my daughter Shannon put it, we have gotten four feet of snow in one week. Surely that must be some kind of record for the most snow in the shortest amount of time. With all this snow, those who ski, snowshoe, or snowmobile must be pretty darned happy.
The view out the cellar window
It has also been very cold, which makes the snow light and subject to drifting. Even in our yard, which is surrounded by trees and thus shielded from the wind, the snow has been sculpted into huge mounds. On this sunny day, the blue-shadowed snow surrounds the little house in the big woods, and it reminds me of a desert, with shifting snow rather than shifting sand.
A desert of snow
The next four days, the weather is supposed to be fairly decent, with perhaps just a bit of snow—four inches or so—to remind us that winter still has a grip on us.
With all the clean-up we must do, I can’t call winter restful. There’s nothing relaxing about hours of shoveling day after day. Still, despite the hard work, I am dazzled by the beauty of this desert of snow I find myself in.
The window box, buriedRolling snow
Soon I will go out to do more shoveling. Soon I will refill the bird feeders that have been mobbed by hungry birds—finches, titmice, chickadees, woodpeckers, and blue jays. The mourning doves, crows, and squirrels hunt for fallen seed in the snow. After I fill the feeders, I will be sure to scatter seed for them, too. Little tunnels indicate other rodents gather seed beneath the feeders.
These creatures somehow survive the cold weather. Fluffy feathers, thick fur, underground burrows all help. But I am grateful for my own snug home and my well-stocked pantry and freezer, filled with so many good things.
Soup will soon be on the menu. Warm, nourishing, economical, exactly the right kind of meal when you are surrounded by a snow desert.
Yesterday, we visited our friend Diane, and upon returning and driving through the tunnel of snow that is now our driveway, my husband, Clif, observed, “You should call this the little house in the big snow.” Duly observed, and he couldn’t be more right.
I’m not sure if the pictures adequately show just how deep the snow is around our house, but in the shot below, it looks as though the snow is up to the windows. That’s because it is. While we don’t have the most snow ever—one winter the snow was up to the bottom of our outdoor lantern—it seems as though it’s the most snow we’ve gotten in the shortest amount of time—two feet of snow promptly followed by another foot of snow with yet another foot of snow predicted for today.
Snow up to the windows
And how cold it is. When I went outside to take pictures of our snow-bound house, the snow squeaked beneath my shoes, and I wasn’t suprised to learn that the temperature was still at zero degrees, even though it was midmorning.
So, more clearing of snow this afternoon. High winds are predicted to go along with the storm, which means we have to worry about our power going out. Clif is working at home today, and we’ll have our big meal at noon—a strata using Farmer Kev’s broccoli. That way, we’ll have plenty of time to do the dishes and clean the kitchen before the winds come.
Because of the weather, Clif and I have been pretty house-bound, and although we love our home, there comes a point where we both feel a little stir crazy. How good it was, then, to visit our friend Diane. We had tea, a tasty bread made from exotic grains—can’t remember what they were—that gave a lovely carob flavor to the loaf. Best of all was the conversation. We talked about the burgeoning food movement in Maine—the increase in young farmers and co-ops. We talked about the number of people struggling to afford good food—Diane volunteers at her local soup kitchen and food pantry, and she has seen first hand how the Great Recession has affected people. She told us about a Japanese drumming concert she recently attended and how she met a man who was planning on opening a noodle shop on Munjoy Hill.
“Let’s all go when it opens,” I said. Clif and I rarely eat out anymore. With many places charging $10 for lunch, it’s become too expensive for us. But Clif and I are suckers for noodle shops—we found a great one in New York City once when we were visiting Dee—and noodles are usually very affordable.
When we left Diane’s house, a nearly-full moon was rising, framed by a neighbor’s roof and the bare branches of a large, dark tree. The sky was a deep blue, and how beautiful the winter sky was at twilight.
We stopped at Reny’s on the way home, and we got some wicked good deals, as we Mainers like to say.
All in all, a great way to cap off a delightful afternoon.
Finally, the snow stopped, the sky cleared, and the sun came out. Time to clean up the snow. Again. But also time to take some pictures of late January—of deep snow, ice, and small things.
To borrow and flip a common description of March, January is certainly going out like a lion. It is snowing again, and the forecast indicates we will be getting another foot of snow. More shoveling, more canceled plans.
On the bright side…Clif and I will certainly be getting our exercise thanks to nature’s gym, as we jokingly call it. And, Liam, too, will get a work out. By nightfall, after so much shoveling, we’ll all be sacked out in the living room. And if the snow doesn’t stop by nightfall, tomorrow we’ll have to do it all over again.
We are positively hemmed in by the snow, and the woods are now closed to me. I could go on snowmobile trails, but it makes me nervous to do so. Those little machines go fast, and especially with the dog, I’m always afraid I’m not going to get out of the way in time in such deep snow. The trails are for the snowmobiles, so I don’t have much of a complaint, but I will miss going in the woods. Always something different to see and photograph.
Except for the paths I have shoveled, my own backyard is closed to me. Winter, with its deep snow, is a time of confinement. The landscape might loom large and white, but where you can go is narrowly proscribed unless you have skis, snowshoes, or a snowmobile. Unfortunately, with my creaky knees, my days of skiing and snowshoeing are over. While I don’t hate snowmobiles the way some green beans do, I have no desire to own one.
It’s a good thing, then, that January is so beautiful. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to stand it. On a snowy day, January is majestic and solemn. On a sunny day, with the blue shadows on the smooth snow, the landscape is so dazzling that I almost don’t mind being confined to my little paths. Almost. (The pictures in this post were taken yesterday, on one of those sunny days.)
Today, along with shoveling, will be a day to make bread. I’ll also do a bit of decluttering in the hopes we can get to the transfer station tomorrow.
In the meantime, the snow comes down, soft and steady.
When the blizzard came to Maine on Tuesday, everything except the falling snow and the hungry birds seemed to come to a standstill. The schools, were closed, the state offices shut down, and even my dentist’s office wasn’t open.
“This is the first time ever our office has closed ahead of time,” Nancy, my dental hygienist, told me on Monday when I was having my teeth cleaned.
And a good thing, too, because the snow came down, down, down all day Tuesday and well into Wednesday morning, when the storm finally wore itself out. Midafternoon on Tuesday, Clif and I went out to clear the driveway, the walkways, and the various paths in the backyard. We knew we’d have to do it again on Wednesday, but with so much snow, we felt it was best to keep up with it. The dog came out to jump, bark, and supervise. At one point, Liam’s black face was covered with snow, and it made him look like a panda bear.
Panda Liam
We spent two hours outside and cleaned about a foot of snow. When we came in, the paths, steps, and driveway were already filling back in. We shed our dripping clothes, made some popcorn, and settled on the couch to read. The dog settled beside us, begging for popcorn. Outside, a blue-grey dusk settled over the landscape, and it was a color I had never seen before. But gradually the black of night replaced the blue-gray of dusk, and it was time to pull down the shades.
There is something sharply defining about a blizzard—the preparations, the shoveling, and the clearing of snow. We know what our duties are, and we tend to them. As much as we humans are shaping the planet, nature is still a force be reckoned with, and blizzards put us in our place.
On Wednesday, after breakfast, Clif and I were back outside. Again, the driveway, steps, walkways, and paths had to be cleared. The car, a great mound of snow, had to be uncovered. At the end of the driveway, there was a wall of snow—four feet high—left by the plow. But hardest of all was the roof, which had to be scraped so that ice dams, which lead to leaks, wouldn’t build up. The snow in the front yard was so deep that I had to shovel a path for Clif so that he could scrape the roof with a long device of connected poles and a large plastic blade on the end. In turn, the scraping of the snow brought an avalanche of hard-packed snow onto the two porches. This snow, of course, had to be removed.
“I’ll do it,” I said to Clif, whose arms were tired. He had done enough.
Clif with the roof scraper and Liam at the ready to supervise
All told, we each spent six hours clearing snow after the storm, but by late Wednesday afternoon, the cleaning was done, and we both felt we had earned more popcorn. After our snack, Clif dozed on the couch, the dog slept in the chair by the window, and the orange cat lay on my lap, making it difficult for me to write in my notebook.
Another foot of snow is projected for Friday and Saturday. Clif and I will be ready, and so will Liam.
The blizzard—named Juno—came and went. She left us with almost two feet of snow to clear from the driveway, our backyard paths, and the roof. However, she did not cause us to lose our power, and for that I am very, very grateful. The road plow added to the fun by leaving a four-foot wall of snow at the end of our driveway.
Clif and I have been busy clearing the snow, so there is not much time to write. But somehow I always find time to take pictures, and here are a few from Storm Juno. I’ll write more about the storm tomorrow.
The front steps after one shoveling during Storm JunoSnow dog, aka LiamClif at the helm of Little GreenAfter the storm, shadows on the snow
Yesterday was quite the busy day filled with library meetings, a dental appointment, and stocking up in anticipation of the big storm. It seems that I wasn’t the only one scurrying for supplies. Last night, at Hannaford, the shelves were cleaned out of bread, butter, and cheddar cheese. There is something about a storm that encourages people to lay in supplies. Quite sensible, I think, and no doubt a holdover from our hunter/gatherer past.
How nice it was, then, to go to Mary Jane’s house for lunch, where I had utterly delectable fish tacos made with tilapia and served with limes, cole slaw, avocados, salsa verde, and a chipotle mayonnaise . (I can’t resist adding that tilapia, along with catfish and carp, is truly sustainable and is approved by the oceanographer Sylvia Earle.) What a terrific Monday treat to have before the storm.
Crunchy tilapia, hot from the panFish taco with all the fixings
I ate way more than I should have, and I could have a fish taco—or two or three—right now.
Today, the blizzard came as expected, and when I got up, it was a winter wonderland. Snow, snow, and more snow, but fortunately it is light and fluffy. And, as readers can probably guess, we still have our power, at least for the moment. I am hoping we will keep our power, but as I wrote in yesterday’s post, we are ready if it goes out.
Flashlights ready for action
In a little while, Clif and I will head outside to begin the first of what will probably be at least two cleanings. The dog will be in his glory as he jumps and barks at the snow I shovel. By the end, Liam will definitely look like a dog of the north, which, with his thick coat, is exactly what he is.
But when we come in, thanks to our wood furnace, the house will be warm. Because of my shopping, we have plenty of treats, and in this house there are always many books just waiting to be read.
All will be snug at the little house in the big woods.
I don’t know if the projected blizzard coming up the East Coast is going to be a “Snowmaggedon,” but we are getting ready for it. I’ll be stopping at the store for bread and canned soup and cookies. The necessities. I have water in buckets down cellar, because if we do lose our power, then we will not have water. I’ll also put aside water in big stockpots.
Today is a busy day of library meetings, errands, and a dental appointment, and there is not much time to write. To get everyone in a wintery mood, here are some pictures I took yesterday of our walk in the woods.
Two on the trailBare branches against blue skyThe snowy NarrowsBeech leaves
For readers who live on the East Coast, in the path of the storm, stay warm and safe.
Yesterday, Liam and I went for a late afternoon walk. The January dusk was not far away, and the woods were full of shadows. Not good for taking pictures, but moody and mysterious. Because of all the rain, much of the snow was gone, and the brown leaves and needles were slippery underfoot. I was glad I had my trekking pole, especially when I went down the steep hill leading to the water.
My trusty trekking pole
The dog and I made it without incident to the Lower Narrows. The dog sniffed, and I took pictures, even though the light was not good. Perhaps it was all the melting and thawing, but the Narrows was especially vocal yesterday. It gurgled, it blubbed, it cracked. One crack was so loud and thunderous that Liam jumped, ran a little ways into the woods, and barked.
I jumped, too, and then smiled, thinking about how our ancient ancestors might have thought there was a spirit making all those sounds, the spirit of the water. From there it was only a short jump to thinking about the great animator Hayao Miyazaki and his wonderful films that thrum with nature spirits—Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away, to name a couple. Perhaps the spirit of the Narrows was trying to break free from the icy grip of winter?
On the dog and I went, to a little cove that was hard and frozen. The light wasn’t too bad here, and I took more pictures. As we turned to go home, I saw a dark shape moving through the clearing. “A dog,” I thought, as Liam bounded toward it.
This thought was immediately followed by, “Not a dog. A porcupine!”
“Liam!” I called frantically. “Come here, come here, come here!”
Visions of a muzzle full of porcupine quills raced through my head, and as I called, I waited for the sound of an anguished yelp as Liam got nailed. But the yelp never came. Liam bounded back to me, the porcupine hustled into the woods, and I put the leash on Liam.
As soon as my heart stopped pounding, I thought, “Darn! I wish I could have gotten a picture of that porcupine.”
Well, you can’t have everything, and I was grateful Liam came when he was called. “You saved yourself a lot of hurt,” I said to the dog as we made our way home.
Liam made no reply, and when we far enough away from the porcupine for me to feel that it was safe, I let Liam off his leash. We returned home without further incidence, and I settled on the couch with a cup of tea and a snack of graham crackers with jam. As I sipped tea and ate, I reflected on our two scares in the woods. Beside me on the couch, the dog begged for bits of graham cracker and jam.
When we go for our walk today, I will be sure to avoid the area where we saw the porcupine.
For the past several years, Clif and I have bought a summer CSA (community supported agriculture) farm share from Farmer Kev, one of our favorite young farmers. In previous posts, I’ve written about Farmer Kev, so I will be brief: He’s still in his twenties, was bit by the farming bug as a young teenager, but doesn’t come from a farming family. Farmer Kev is a friend of the family and is one of the hardest-working young men that I know.
This year, for the first time, Farmer Kev offered a winter CSA farm share, and Clif and I did not hesitate to buy one. As a result, we’ve been getting vegetables that store well over the winter—beets, carrots, potatoes, garlic, and lots and lots of squash. The time had come, I decided, to make a spicy squash soup.
Any squash will do for this soup, but as I had an abundance of acorn squash, that is what I used. The soup is a two-step process because baking acorn squash first is the easiest way to mash it. Even though the hands-on time is minimal, I usually plan to bake the squash one day and make the soup on the following day. This time was no different. I baked the squash on Monday and made the soup on Tuesday.
To bake the squash—I used three—I greased a baking sheet, cut the squash in half, scooped out the seeds, placed the squash face down on the baking sheet, and baked them for an hour or so at 350 degrees.
Ready to be baked
When the squash was very soft—I poked it with a fork to test it—I removed the baking sheet from the oven, let the squash cool, and then mashed it into a bowl, which was then stored in the refrigerator until the next day. Note: If you are an early bird, then the baking of the squash and the making of the soup could easily be accomplished in one day.
Scooping and mashing squashMashed and ready for soup
Next came the making of the soup base. For this I used potatoes, carrots, and garlic, all courtesy of Farmer Kev. (I also used an onion, which, alas, I had to buy at the store.) I sautéed the vegetables, added water and spices, and simmered them for about an hour. When the potatoes and carrots were very soft, I blended the cooked squash into the simmered vegetables.
And then there was soup.
Clif likes his soup to be bulky with either crackers or pasta or some other ingredient to “fill it out,” as he puts it. So I usually cook some pasta to go with puréed soups, and the pasta is added to the bottom of the bowls rather than to the soup itself. That way, the pasta doesn’t swell into something unrecognizable.
I just thought of another reason why I bake the squash the day before. That way, the oven is free for me to make homemade bread to go with the soup.
Hot soup and homemade bread on a cold January night. Pretty darned good, as my Yankee husband might say.
Squash soup and homemade bread
Spicy Squash Soup
Makes six generous servings
4 medium potatoes, cubed
2 small or 1 large carrot, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, roughly chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
6 tablespoons of oil or butter
6 cups of water
1 teaspoon of dried tarragon
1 teaspoon of celery seed
1 teaspoon of cumin
1/2 teaspoon of white pepper
2 teaspoons of salt or to taste
4 cups of cooked, mashed squash (pumpkin could also be used)
In a large stockpot, heat the oil and add the potatoes, carrots, and onion. Sauté for five minutes and add the garlic, sautéing for 30 seconds. Add the water and the tarragon, celery seed, cumin, white pepper, and salt. Simmer for about an hour, until the vegetables are very soft.
Blend the squash into the cooked vegetables. The best way to do this is with an immersion blender. Set the stockpot in the sink, add the squash to the pot, and blend away in one easy swoop. You don’t have to worry about burning yourself, and you don’t have the mess of blending it in several batches. Whoever invented the immersion blended should be pronounced a hero to home cooks everywhere.
If you don’t have an immersion blender, then use a blender with a glass pitcher, do it in batches, and be careful not to burn yourself.
Then, enjoy!
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Notes From the Hinterland 