my place

Came out of the house the other day, and there was a robin screaming at me. I've been here for over 30 years. I thought this was my place. My sister-in-law, Gay, says she has the same problem.

March 25, 2008
A couple of revealing moments about life in a cold climate. This morning on our morning walk we ran into Barb, and we all remarked about how it was getting light out. About two minutes later, we were walking by the Dufner's house. I heard a high pitched repetitive sound. I couldn't figure out what it was. It sounded like maybe a squeaky fan might be running in their basement. It finally dawned on me what it was. It was a solitary bird, singing to the rising sun. In a few weeks there will be hundreds of them doing the same thing. It has been so long since I have heard that sound. It seemed like a miracle!
To a lesser degree, I experienced the same feeling yesterday walking to  production. The snow on the front lawn has been receding, and it disappeared completely over the weekend. That which had been covered with snow and invisible for so long was revealed. Again, it seemed like a miracle.
On the one hand, there's something a little pathetic about living in a place where a singing bird is considered a miracle. On the other hand, it's a gift. Complacency is one of the great killers of the joy of living. Living in a cold climate continues to offer opportunities to appreciate and savor the small miracles of life. In many ways that is the heart of this daily journal. Opossum seen along the road in West Rutland last night.

thermodynamics

Here in the north country, there are always interesting lessons in thermodynamics at this time of year. There are places where the snow is gone. There are places where the snow remains. It is interesting to try to figure out the why's. The angle of the terrain in relation to the sun is a big factor. Snow on south-facing slopes goes away more quickly than snow on north-facing slopes. What are the impacts of sun, wind, and shade? Many areas around buildings show less snow than areas nearby, showing the power of the sun reflecting off of these same buildings. There is a road nearby that runs north and south through a narrow valley. The snow on the west-facing slope disappears faster than the snow on the east-facing slope. I think it's due to the interaction of temperatures and sunlight. The west-facing slopes receive direct sunlight during the afternoons when temperatures are highest. East-facing slopes receive direct sunlight during the mornings when temperatures are lower. It's all very interesting to me.

We ought to view ourselves with the same curiosity and openness with which we study a tree, the sky, or a thought, because we too are linked to the entire universe.
Henri Matisse
Zen page-a-day calendar

miso soup

The lane has turned into substance somewhat akin to miso soup. Buds appearing on the trees. 

stirring

Bluebirds spotted in the back clustering around the bird house. Blue Jays fighting for nesting spots along the forest edge. Woodchuck scampering along the back field. Things are stirring.

If you notice anything,
it leads you to notice more and more.
Mary Oliver
Zen page-a-day calendar

early spring

Cold, dark, wet, and foggy. Feels like the world is giving birth to itself.

Transition from winter to spring produces some interesting snow patterns. Combination of snow and bare ground have often reminded me of the coat of an appaloosa.

There can also be a "rounding" or softening of the snow banks where it meets up with bare ground, particularly of the wet variety.

snow

Snow at this time of year is sometimes called "poor man's fertilizer." It's called a lot of other things, too.

morning

Heading north on Saturday morning. It was cold and dark when I left home, wished I was still in bed. But then the sun started to rise in the east, and the morning in pastel began. The color of the snow went through its usual changes, dark blue to light blue to green to white. The moon, like mother of pearl, floating through the western sky with the planet Saturn. Alpenglow, shimmering on the Adirondacks far to the west. Crows, silhouetted against the golden morning light high in the sky overhead.

I'm awake; I'm in the world-
I expect no further assurance.
Louise Gluck
Zen page-a-day calendar

10th

March 21, 2007
AM thermometer went past zero, maybe for the last time this year? Snow mushy during the day, freezes at night; little crystalline nuggets in the morning. John home from D.C. today. New moon with Venus above.

This is the first entry from this, whatever-it-is. Started out as a journal and morphed into a blog. The idea was that there are more than four seasons in Vermont, and to try to find them, see them, document them. It has opened my eyes. Today is the 10th anniversary.

Special shout out to Carol. She almost always has a reply. Thanks!

first day of spring

Today is the first day of spring. It is said in the north country that the first day of spring and the first spring day can be a month apart. That could be true this year. Sometimes the first sign of spring is the above, frost heave signs, although I haven't seen any this year.
In some countries in the Middle East, The first day of spring is also New Year's Day. In some ways that really makes sense, especially if you're trying to implement some resolutions involving walking, exercising and the like.

BTU's

I have about three columns of firewood left in the back. I get about three loads of wood into our wood stacker next to the stove. Each stack lasts about four days. That means there are about 12 days of wood in each column. I have about a 36 day supply of wood remaining. Looks like we have enough wood left to get us through April 23rd. That should be enough.
Time is not always measured in minutes or hours. Sometimes in the north country it's measured in BTU's.

wolves

A lot of shoveling to do after the big storm. Heard the call of a red winged blackbird. Drove into town on snow covered roads. Couldn't help but feel a little like Dr. Zhivago, leading a troika through the woods somewhere between St. Petersburg and Moscow, wolves nipping at my heels. Active fantasy life.

nor'easter!

new photos

nor'easter!

old photo

turn

Andromeda Galaxy

Full moon, the "Snow Moon" last night. Expecting a big snow storm starting tomorrow.

And yet...

Daylight Savings Time began on Sunday, spring forward. Plowed field in Brandon.

To everything, turn turn turn.
There is a season, turn turn turn.
And a time to every purpose under heaven.
The Byrds
Ecclesiastes

brush pile

vernal pool in early spring

Hearing the two-note territorial call of the chickadee. Brush pile being burned in Brandon. High school hockey and basketball playoffs underway. Spring edition of Rutland magazine on sale. Happy Birthday, Bill!

The ability to observe without evaluating is the highest form of intelligence.

Jiddu Krishnamurti

Zen page-a-day calendar

ticks

Allyn said she spoke with Cacky and Nathan at town meeting, and both reported that their dogs were covered with ticks when walking our property. The prevalence of ticks continues to increase in our area. Article in the NY Times yesterday that the advent of spring, at least in some areas of the country, is about three weeks ahead of schedule.

crystalline pipe organs

In a manner similar to the movement of water through my basement, melting snow gravitates underground and moves through cracks in the rocks. It is common along the cuts in roadsides to see where this water has exited these fissures, and freezes once it hits the cold air. This is a pedestrian explanation for the makings of some beautiful ice formations. These have always reminded me of crystalline pipe organs. This photo is from the fall actually, but you get the idea.

cabin fever

A mercifully short town meeting last night. Yesterday morning I split a couple of pieces of wood for the wood stove. Casually looked across the road and saw smoke rising from a chimney. The wind was blowing from the south. I realized that when I was growing up in California, I never knew what direction the wind was blowing from. At this time of year in Vermont, I always know the wind direction because it matters. Over the weekend the wind was blowing briskly from the north. It was very cold. Yesterday the wind was blowing from the south, not so cold.
On Sunday I watched a little bit of the golf tournament on TV. Grass and trees were a vibrant green, people wearing tee shirts. During most of the year I'm quite happy to be here in Vermont, but as the March lion roars, it's easy to dream of being somewhere else. 

experience

We have had more than the usual share of warmer than normal temperatures, but the weather over the weekend was probably the coldest of the winter season with a brisk wind. Temperature this morning was six degrees. Yesterday it was about two degrees when I went out into the sunny, windy day to knock ice off the drain from the sump pump in the basement. Creaking and moaning from the old maple tree nearby as it swayed in the breeze. I went out to get the newspaper, and my hands hurt from the extreme wind chill. Afterwards it snowed for a bit; the very tiny flakes that occur when it's very cold. Small and white and fluffy, like the ash from the wood stove.
It was uncomfortable to be outside over the weekend, but there was also something very gratifying about it. Pain, creaking and cracking, tiny flakes in the air, eyes watering: these are all parts of winter in Vermont. It's wonderful to experience them, it really is. Temperatures rebounding into the 40's today.

The more faithfully you listen to the voice within you, the better you will hear what is sounding outside. And only she who listens can speak.

Dag Hammarskjold
Zen page-a-day calendar

sugaring season

Driving into work the other day, saw our neighbors emptying out the sap-gathering bins along the road. They said the sap was running full out, that it had actually overflowed. They were very busy. I stopped into a convenience store on the way in and a small gathering outside the store was talking about the sugaring season, and how it was going. When I got to work, I mentioned the story about the sap overflow to some people. The look they gave me indicated that letting sap overflow was almost akin to shooting your grandmother. The four seasons exist pretty much everywhere, but sugaring season is found in only a few places, like Vermont. Enumerating all of the seasons, the signs of the times large and small, was pretty much the motivation for this blog/journal so many years ago.

March 27, 2009

30's and foggy. Took a walk up the crossroads last night. As I started out, I saw steam rising out of the May's sugarhouse. I was happy to notice the first signs of sugaring I'd seen all year. As I got near the top, there was a pickup parked with its lights on. It was Justin Turco out collecting sap with his daughter. I met him as I was walking by, and he invited me to his sugarhouse. He said to go right in, and he would be along in a minute. Walking across the bridge over the creek in front of his house bright lights from the sugarhouse ahead in the misty gloom. His wife, Tammy, was inside sugaring. That smell! She gave me some hot syrup to sample, a taste of Vermont heaven. We had a great visit. Lights were on in the Johnson's sugarhouse at the bottom of the hill when heading home. Sparks shooting out of the chimney like stars in the sky. I realized there are four working sugarhouses within walking distance of our house. I think I am going to have pancakes with maple syrup tomorrow morning.

kites

Warm day followed by a cold wind. Chickens freed from wintry cages gamboling in yards and along roadsides. Thinking of kites.

geese

Went out to visit John and his family in Buffalo last week. The drive is mostly straight over flat ground. Between Syracuse and Rochester is the Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge. Mostly it's a large swamp at the north end of Cayuga Lake. It is teeming with life, especially at this time of year. Swarms of geese could be seen flying in their usual V-shaped formations, hundreds of them. The refuge is also home to bald eagles. I think I saw one of them as well.

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you about mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination.