Winter’s nadir?

While running errands this morning, we saw a sun dog. That means it was very cold and the sun was shining. Sun dogs need cold. Our dogs say they don’t, at least not this cold, this long. It’s getting harder to get them to take care of business because they just want to take a quick sniff around and head back into the warm(er) house. I understand their perspective but don’t expect to get them potty trained in addition to being housebroken, so we’ll continue our walks in the weather.

As I type this, I’m sitting in my arm chair in front of a picture window through which afternoon sun is pouring without any warmth. It’ll take a month or so before we can feel much warmth in sunlight. Meanwhile, I’ll be wearing heavy cardigans during the day and fleece-lined pj’s at night and typing blog posts about the North Country’s bitter, in more ways than one, cold.

If we continue to make progress, tomorrow is the day we can start to lay out fly rods and reels on a freshly cleared pool table so both the Better Half and I can mutually confirm whose is which. We have let playing with our toys deteriorate to the point that we’re not always sure whose rod one of us is about to grab. This isn’t a possessive about possessions concern as much as it is about different casting styles and preferences in line weights and actions. Fly fishing is usually more fun when your cast (my cast) feels good as well as hits the target.

flowers add color to winter

Photo by J. Harrington

As we ponder the eventual arrival of the equinox and the next season in the annual cycle we’re heartened and encouraged by the emergence of at least four bright yellow tulips in our indoor bulb garden, plus a red amaryllis starting to blossom and another starting to emerge from its bulb.

In case any of you are keeping track, the levain for the rye bread was a success although perhaps I “harvested” it too long after it had peaked. It floated nicely, but the dough it’s intended to rise isn’t yet rising. I have hopes than an overnight stay in the warming room (upstairs bath) will prompt it to rise. We’ll see in the morning.

Like Brooms of Steel (1252)

Emily Dickinson
1830 – 1886

Like Brooms of Steel  
The Snow and Wind  
Had swept the Winter Street -
The House was hooked  
The Sun sent out   
Faint Deputies of Heat -
Where rode the Bird  
The Silence tied  
His ample - plodding Steed
The Apple in the Cellar snug  
Was all the one that played.

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