The Thanksgiving Eve storm.

We are now into Minnesota's alternative to road construction season, Winter. There's about 5" or so of snow on the ground. Birds are piling into the suet and sunflower seed feeders. Even with the snow's flat, white light, the cardinal showed hints of red. The lack of contrast didn't much affect our views of chickadees, nuthatches and woodpeckers, all mostly black, white and grays, but seeing a normally red  cardinal in what looks like a gray, flannel suit was a little unnerving.

white and white and black and gray and not much else

Photo by J. Harrington

We're finding it to be a challenge to name our new skiing gnome but he was really excited to see the snow coming down as we unpacked him. So far, folks have thought of and suggested, in no particular order, Sven, Ole, Lars, and, in honor of Minnesota's cross-country ski Olympian and Northfield's infamous banks robber, Jessie. We're kind of leaning toward Ole because we believe skiers and bull fighters share similar risk-taking profiles and Ole is both a name and an exclamation as well as an adjective alternative for old. If anyone wants to make a pitch for any of the list, or suggest an alternative, have at it in the comments.

name the skiing gnome!

Photo by J. Harrington

The new snowblower is heavier and less wieldy than the old one. We'll need to make some adjustments to our style, but it works well and it's certainly more wieldy than the tractor with a backblade. As we get more and more like an ole man (see what we did there?), we're pondering adding a lighter, single stage snowblower for cleanup work. Or, maybe we're just getting lazy.

Since this is the eve of Thanksgiving day, we're compelled to share an ole (we did it again!), traditional Thanksgiving poem. Before we get to it though, we wish all of you and yours, and everyone, a Happy Thanksgiving and/or whatever holidays you celebrate at this time of year.

The New-England Boy's Song about Thanksgiving Day

By Lydia Maria Child

Over the river, and through the wood,

    To grandfather's house we go;

        The horse knows the way,

        To carry the sleigh,

    Through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    To grandfather's house away!

        We would not stop

        For doll or top,

    For 't is Thanksgiving day.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    Oh, how the wind does blow!

        It stings the toes,

        And bites the nose,

    As over the ground we go.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    With a clear blue winter sky,

        The dogs do bark,

        And children hark,

    As we go jingling by.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    To have a first-rate play —

        Hear the bells ring

        Ting a ling ding,

    Hurra for Thanksgiving day!

Over the river, and through the wood —

    No matter for winds that blow;

        Or if we get

        The sleigh upset,

    Into a bank of snow.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    To see little John and Ann;

        We will kiss them all,

        And play snow-ball,

    And stay as long as we can.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    Trot fast, my dapple grey!

        Spring over the ground,

        Like a hunting hound,

    For 't is Thanksgiving day!

Over the river, and through the wood,

    And straight through the barn-yard gate;

        We seem to go

        Extremely slow,

    It is so hard to wait.

Over the river, and through the wood,

    Old Jowler hears our bells;

        He shakes his pow,

        With a loud bow wow,

    And thus the news he tells.

Over the river, and through the wood —

    When grandmother sees us come,

        She will say, Oh dear,

        The children are here,

    Bring a pie for every one.

Over the river, and through the wood —

    Now grandmother's cap I spy!

        Hurra for the fun!

        Is the pudding done?

    Hurra for the pumpkin pie!

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