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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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Re: reading

I believe it’s once again time for me to reread Braiding Sweetgrass and A Sand County Almanac. Time spent with either or both of those works will be more satisfying and rewarding than time spent checking headlines or doom-scrolling social media. I can incorporate Almanac by matching it month by month with Ted Kooser’s The Wheeling Year: A Poet's Field Book and stretch each out over a year. As for Sweetgrass, some time ago I began to take notes as I last reread it. Now it's past time for me to locate that notebook and see if I want to pick up where I left off or simply enjoy (again) some fantastic thinking and wonderful writing from Robin Wall Kimmerer.

Recently I’ve been troubled by my observation that people keep looking for new knowledge and wisdom instead of applying and building on what’s already available. (I plead nolo contendere.) Then, this morning I started reading Chris La Tray’s Descended from a Travel-Worn Satchel and thought “I’d like to be the kind of person who can write haiku like this.” Since I’ve not tried writing haiku for years, I decided to back up and regroup. Hence, the rereading added to a new reading list. If it continues to be a long, cold, cloudy, winter, I’m prepared as long as we don’t run out of coffee. It’s way too cold to practice fly-casting in the back yard.

Irish soda bread

Photo by J. Harrington

This week also brings a new adventure. I’m going to take a crack at baking sourdough rye bread. The levain got mixed today. We’ll see if the starter was vigorous enough or if we need to go back to square one. This morning I used a commercial mix and baked a loaf of Irish soda bread. It’s delicious and much less trouble than artisan sourdough. It also creates a diminished sense of accomplishment compared to “from scratch.” I’ll add rereading sections of Sourdough by Science to the list. Mastery may be to ambitious but improvement is possible.

Bread Soup: An Old Icelandic Recipe

By Bill Holm

Start with the square heavy loaf 

steamed a whole day in a hot spring 

until the coarse rye, sugar, yeast 

grow dense as a black hole of bread. 

Let it age and dry a little, 

then soak the old loaf for a day 

in warm water flavored 

with raisins and lemon slices. 

Boil it until it is thick as molasses. 

Pour it in a flat white bowl. 

Ladle a good dollop of whipped cream 

to melt in its brown belly. 

This soup is alive as any animal, 

and the yeast and cream and rye 

will sing inside you after eating 

for a long time.

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.