Icing called

We made a couple of interesting and frustrating discoveries at midday today. Here's the background: the thaw left the drive covered in melting snow and puddles. Today's dropping temperatures froze everything that hadn't run off into the ditches or down to the pond behind the house. The drive is a large, smooth, sheet of ice. Both the Better Half and yr obt svt wear Yak Tracks for just these circumstances. The dogs, with four paws and nails on each one, are still resisting learning to walk at heel. So, we wanted to spread some sand (heaven forbid we should apply salt) to provide an enhanced traction for dog walkers.

a driveway covered in ice

Photo by J. Harrington

The first thing we learned is that someone put away the grass seed spreader, which we were going to use to scatter sand, in such a way that the crank handle that drives the spreader didn't turn. That "tool" is now in the trash because we tried to "fix" it using brute force and broke the handle off. Only slightly deterred, but cursing loudly, we dug out the fertilizer spreader, filled its hopper with sand, and proceeded down the drive to create a sand path. That selfsame ice which prompted the urge to spread sand gave no traction to the wheels that drive the spreader full of sand. We did leave a couple of narrow streaks of sand, better than nothing, but we're back to a baseline of knowing how to handle snow and most cold, but being largely thwarted by the rain/ice pattern we're seeing more of.

with but a narrow path of sand

Photo by J. Harrington

If putting on, and fastening, wading boots with studs or cleats on the bottom weren't so much work, we'd use this as a perfect excuse to upgrade our wading equipment but we rarely want to be out in the Winter as much time as we spend wading a stream so we won't lie to ourselves (this week). Then again, patagonia has some expensive river crampons that we could go talk to a salesperson about.

It's supposed to warm up again next weekend. That might help solve our near term problem. Plus, we need to write ourselves a note that, when we get the drive redone, it needs to be graded not only front to back, but also side to side. Then, we hope, the uphill side would be clear and dry as January thaws or March-April "normal" weather presents us with slippery slop covering most of the drive.

January

Betty Adcock

Dusk and snow this hour 
in argument have settled 
nothing. Light persists, 
and darkness. If a star 
shines now, that shine is 
swallowed and given back 
doubled, grounded bright. 
The timid angels flailed 
by passing children lift 
in a whitening wind 
toward night. What plays 
beyond the window plays 
as water might, all parts 
making cold digress. 
Beneath iced bush and eave, 
the small banked fires of birds 
at rest lend absences 
to seeming absence. Truth 
is, nothing at all is missing. 
Wind hisses and one shadow 
sways where a window’s lampglow 
has added something. The rest 
is dark and light together tolled 
against the boundary-riven 
houses. Against our lives, 
the stunning wholeness of the world.

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