The snowy forest at night
Even though this long winter continues to snow and blow and freeze and fuss, I still think an icy snowfall sparkles beautifully.
This morning, captured under the glow of our deck light, heavy wet snow dressed the woods in grandeur yet again.
The woods before dawn illuminated by our deck light
After many mostly photography-less weeks, I reached for the Canon Rebel and lost myself attempting to capture this view, and that view, and how about this one?
Posted in February 2014
Tagged forest at night, life, photography, shoveling, snow, snowstorm, thoughts, Upper Peninsula, winter, wood pile, woods
White. Winter. World.
It’s so easy to get—ah choo!–a very bad case of–ah choo!–you know what I’m going to say don’t you?–a very bad case of Cabin Fever at this time of year.
It doesn’t matter if you live in a cabin like we do.
Doesn’t matter if you dwell in one of those fancy apartments in a fancy city. Doesn’t matter if you’re milkin’ cows down on the farm. Or driving through those suburbs on expressways wishing you lived down south.
In Michigan, Minnesota, Wisconsin, the Dakotas, (add your northern state here or maybe your southern state, the way things are going this year) you probably have 1) a teeny tiny bout with Cabin Fever or 2) a burgeoning case of the blues or 3) you’re ready to shoot six holes in your freezer, thanks, Jimmy Buffett.
Through the deck window before dawn this morning
We awoke to another eight, ten, twelve inches of snow. Who knows without a ruler?
I offered to warm up and brush off Barry’s car before he left for work. (He does the same for me many days.)
It’s zero degrees (-17 C) again, supposedly dropping throughout the day. I am blogging solely for entertainment purposes, aiming to ward off Cabin Fever.
Let’s walk to the mailbox, shall we?
Barry is plowing snow today, thank goodness, for last night the tractor stopped dead as he plowed the twelve inches of new snow on the driveway. It simply stopped cold, done, finis.
He plotted repair scenarios all night in his sleep, but this morning–lo and behold, another miracle!, the tractor revved once again. Ice in the gas line, he thinks. (I will correct this diagnosis later, just in case non-mechanical me is completely in error.)
1. First of all, relax. You don’t have to DO anything on another snow day. The Universe gives you permission to relax and lie on the couch all day–in your pajamas–if you so desire. Breathe in, breathe out. Simply BE. That isn’t so hard, is it?
2. Watch the snow fall. Snow descends from the sky in such fascinating different ways. As previously discussed, when the wind is a’blowin’, snow sometimes falls down and then ascends up. Sometimes it scatters sideways. This morning, cuddled beneath the white comforter in my jammies, it seems the flakes fall tenderly. Can you imagine tender snow drifting downward?
From side window overlooking deck
The oddest thing just happened!
I sat upon the couch, meditating, not thinking about much of anything. My gaze settled on our windows. Quietly peered through the windows, noticing how they act as frames for nature.
A house filled with snow frames.
Little frames for window art.
Windows unto the black and white soul of winter.
Sorry, you’re going to have to look at old pics from 2011. It’s too cold for me to go outside and take any new photos.
Good chilly blanket-wrapped morning!
I hope you’re keeping warm, readers.
Let’s pour a cup of coffee–or would you like tea?–or hot cocoa?–and chat for a spell.
So many everyday conversations begin and end with weather these days. Our thermometer shivers at -10 (-23 C) this still-dark Tuesday morn. My husband just warmed the car in the driveway (it started suspiciously with that telltale err-err-err sound even though he bought a new battery last week) and drove through -32 (-35 C)wind chills to his job at the Sentinel.
I, on the other hand, live in the lap of wood stove stoking luxury. Most of our schoolchildren in the western Upper Peninsula stay at home, protected from that wind chill, yesterday and today. Therefore, I stay at home.
Theoretically, that is.
Little Christmas trees in the north woods
Merry Christmas, dear readers, from our snowy Little House in the Big Woods in Aura, Upper Peninsula, Michigan, just a dozen owl hoots from the nearest four-way stop.
I wish you the happiest of holidays. May you enjoy this season of celebration as we surpass the darkest days of the year.
May 2014 bring you peace, joy and understanding.
I have so appreciated another year of blogging with all of you. You’ve all helped my life shine brighter than a star atop a Christmas tree.
Will be taking a blogging break now–and shall see you sometime after the New Year decks the halls with boughs of holly.
Many blessings! Hope you enjoy looking at all the snowy pictures, including a few oldies but goodies of my little ones when they still frolicked in the snow at our Little House in the Big Woods.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Apple trees behind our two-classroom school
It’s apple snow
Apples up above
Flash of yellow in snow
Snow continues to fly here in the north woods. You think snow drifts downward, don’t you? You think snow drops from clouds to earth. Sounds logical, right?
I’ve learned that snow, in actuality, flies every-which-way. It’s most intriguing when it flies upward. You’re looking out your window and snow rises. It’s aimed for the clouds. Go figure.
Later, you’ll realize it’s the wind. Snow does drift down from clouds. The wind sometimes tosses it back up. It’s like a game of catch. Who’s gonna catch the snowflakes, wind or cloud? Grandfather Winter likes to amuse himself.
We started re-filling the wood room again last night. Oh, so frigid. We topped off the back row and half filled the second row. Tonight we’ll haul logs again. Actually, I haul logs and hand them to the chief stacker, Mr. Barry. I wear my grandmother’s old 1969 snowmobile suit. (It’s famous, you know. Someone said so on Facebook.)