Good Friday

Good Friday; cold, dark and wet. Feels like the world is giving birth to itself. Buddhas and crocuses emerging from out of the snow.

Ummon addressed the assembly and said, "I am not asking about the days before the 15th of the month,, but what about after the 15th? Come and give me a word about those days." And he himself gave the answer for them. "Every day is a good day."

sound of summer

Milky Way

Driving through Ira this morning. Lights of the Milky Way Farm blazing in the darkness. Heard the call of a red-eyed vireo for the first time this year. Its call is described by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology as "brief but incessant." It can call as many as 20,000 times a day. This is not the sound of winter or spring. This is the sound of summer. Listen.

https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Red-eyed_Vireo/sounds

potholes

The roads in New England take a beating during the winter season. One of the first signs of spring is the frost heave signs that appear along roadways. Snowmelt runs under the roads during the day, and freezes at night causing bumps or "heaves" to appear in the roads. The ride from Ira to Rutland can often feel like the Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyworld. There have been times when I have literally hurt my back when driving into work in the morning. Actually, the frost heaves don't seem too bad this year.
Frost heave season is followed by "mud season" when the ice in the roads melt, and turn dirt roads into a ribbon of mud. Many years ago a tire was literally pulled off our car when I was driving on the Crossroads near home. Grading on dirt roads has been significantly improved over the years, and the roads are much better than they used to be.
That brings us to the potholes. They have been particularly bad this year, and I don't know why. I was attempting to negotiate some deep potholes in Rutland the other day. I stopped in at an ATM, looked down, and noticed a crack in the windshield. I think it was caused by the potholes, and is a first for us. This too will pass.

nosing

It's warming. Snow is going. Girl on a scooter in Shelburne. Two boys playing basketball on an outside court. Skunk crossing the road in West Rutland. Fox nosing around in the back field.

March 3
Breakup. Not Elizabeth and me but a bond nearly as strong: the bond between seasons, winter and spring, the bond beginning to separate, loosen, buckle and fold. Frost heaves in the barns, on the roads--the earth is stretching, coming back to life.
Elizabeth saw a bluebird flying through the woods the other day, the first "real" bird, rather than the silent and angry winter warriors who've stayed on -- the great gray owl, ravens, eagles and the thermal-king grouse. The first real bird, one whose sole purpose is to sing and splash color across the land, to spread wild beauty.
I, too, feel myself beginning to buckle, to stretch.
The roads are thawing, losing the frost that has been locked into the ground's pores. The ice is turning to water, expanding, lifting the roads and the fields into waves, into a soft sea of mud.

Winter
Rick Bass

make it

Temperatures in the 40's and 50's this week. Uh, that is actually warmer here. Daffodils starting to push up through the ground. The transition from winter to spring has started, but there is still some cold weather to get through. By my calculations, I have roughly a two week supply of wood left. That will have to do. I have seen trucks on the road hauling hay. Figuring that some farmers have been caught short on their hay supply, and had to buy some. Per usual, I was heading out early yesterday morning, and saw a deer out in a field near the creek. She was walking very gingerly and cautiously, her feet breaking through the crusty snow. As I headed out on the main road, I looked over to see if I could catch another look at her. She was under an old apple tree, head to the ground. Apparently she had found some apples.
There was something very uplifting about this. Apple trees grow like weeds on our place. They help feed the deer and other animals in the fall, and again in the spring. With winter receding, I've got to feel that any deer I see are going to make it.

sun pillar

Temperatures have warmed a bit closer to normal. Above freezing during the day, below freezing during the night. Corn snow (crystalline) in the mornings, sugar snow (big flakes) in Rutland the other night.
Saw a sun pillar when driving through Middlebury around sunset recently. The sun shining on ice crystals high overhead. Amazing.

One swallow does not make a summer, but one skein of geese, cleaving the murk of a March thaw, is the spring.
A cardinal whistling spring to a thaw but later finding himself mistaken, can retrieve his error by resuming his winter silence. A chipmunk, emerging for a sunbath but finding a blizzard, has only to go back to bed. But a migrating goose, staking two hundred miles of black night on the chance of finding a hole in the lake, has no easy chance for retreat. His arrival carries the conviction of a prophet who has burned his bridges.

March
A Sand County Almanac
Aldo Leopold

carve

Sunny and cold. Looks like the nor'easter missed us this time. Much of the snow is gone. Bare patches appearing. Sun and wind can evaporate the snow without melting. Google says it's a process called sublimation, but old timers say that the sun and wind "carve" the snow. Blackbirds congregate in patches of open ground, looking for food. Shaggy horses standing in snow-covered fields--waiting.

Ice flakes sparkle in the sun on the sunny blue cold days up here; no snow, not a cloud in the sky, but little flecks of frozen moisture, tiny ice crystals like glitter, floating and sparkling. Breitenstein had said that when it's really cold these minute crystals collide in the breeze and make a faint tinkling sound, like chimes, like glass clinking, a magical sound.

Winter
Rick Bass

again

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 how this, whatever it is, started eleven years ago today. It started with an idea. Conventional wisdom says there are four seasons in Vermont. I knew there were many more than that. I wanted to see if I could find/count them all. It started out as a private journal. Then I thought it would be fun to share with my son, John. Quickly I started sending it to Erin, and then to my Dad. My father was always my biggest supporter. He thought this was great, and urged me to send it to more people. The rest is history.

Doing something like this assumes that sooner or later you''re going to get to the point of diminishing returns. I stopped doing this once before. I told my friend Doug a few weeks ago that I was going to stop for good on this day. A few days ago he emailed me. He said he really liked my blog, and didn't want me to stop. How could I say no? So here we go again for another orbit. I hope you like it, too.

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

The Circle Game
Joni Mitchell

warmer

First day of spring. New Year's Day in Iran. Somewhere it's spring, but not here. Two below zero this morning. In these parts it's said that sometimes the first day of spring and the first spring day can be separated by as much as a month. Over the weekend I was walking through the kitchen, and stopped dead in my tracks. For some reason I was open for a moment to the beautiful winter scene right out my kitchen window, like the scene in this photo. I was so grateful for the circumstances that brought me to this spot here on the other side of the creek. Every day I have the opportunity to observe (and chronicle) the beauty evident in this little corner of the world. Somehow I feel a little warmer.

We fixed hot chocolate, sat by the window, and read, and waited. We went for a walk in the woods with the dogs. We didn't see any deer or squirrels or even any birds. I've got a lot of wood in, but could use more.
It was like guests showing up, when the snow first started coming down, guests from out of town.
I'm from the South, will always be from the South. I'll never get used to snow--how slowly it comes down, how the world seems to slow down, how time slows down, how age and sin and everything is buried. I don't mind the cold. The beauty is worth it.
It's dark now, and still snowing. An inch, two inches, on the ground, on the car, on the trees, everything. If anything needed doing before the snow came, it should have been done yesterday.
It's going to be strange falling asleep tonight, knowing that snow is landing on the roof. It's here. We're here. Nobody's leaving

Winter
Rick Bass

winter

Four below this morning. Mist rising on the Otter Creek. Ice returning to Wood's Pond. Snowmobile trailers on the roads. It's winter again.

There's a point where you can give up on winter--when temptation can enter our soul, prying its way in like cold air through the cracks in your cabin...and this can make you realize that February's coming, and beyond February, March. For all practical purposes, save for a few blizzards, March will be it. April will come rushing on and winter will be over.
See, I don't yet realize that March will be the hardest month. Early February's the coldest, and often the snowiest, but March, strange silent March, will be the hardest.

Winter
Rick Bass
Yaak, Montana

raking

Raking the snow off the roof yesterday. Really don't ever remember doing that when I was growing up in California. The above photo was taken yesterday, but really doesn't do justice to the amount of snow we have right now. I think the people up in the mountains have even more. I imagine the ski areas are loving this, but it's hard not to think about the poor deer at this time of year.

special

Walking out the lane to get the newspaper.

We are just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star. But we can understand the universe. That makes us something very special.
Stephen Hawking

walking

Walking in the morning with all the other old people at the mall. Chocolate bunnies and St. Patrick Day decorations in the stores. Spring edition of Rutland Magazine on the newsstands.

If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.
The Dalai Lama
Zen page-a-day calendar

snowflakes

Snowflake Bentley

The nor'easter has started. It's the third one in about 8-10 days. No school for Allyn today. 3-5 inches of snow today, 2-4 inches tonight, 2-4 inches tomorrow, 1-3 inches tomorrow night. I've had enough. 

But yesterday on two occasions I saw people out playing with their dogs in the snow. The people were happy, but the dogs were ecstatic. Master, ball, snow; December, January, March, doesn't matter. It was a real lesson in being in the moment.

I stopped in for coffee after meditation this morning. I heard an older gentlemen grumbling about the snow. I recounted to him the inspirational story of the dogs in the snow. When I got to the part about the dogs knot knowing what month it is he said, "Well, my cat does. When I let her outside, all she has to do is smell the snow, and she's back inside."

There's an inspiring lesson in there somewhere, but at this point I don't know what it is.

Beautiful snowflakes, they fall nowhere.

Layman Pang

call

Another nor'easter on the way. Ducks on Otter Creek. Harsh call of wild geese heading north when walking on the Crossroads. When you live in a place like this, that sound will stop you dead in your tracks.

Today means boundless and inexhaustible eternity. Periods of months and years and of time in general are ideas of men, who calculate by number; but the true name of eternity is Today.
Philo
Zen page-a-day calendar

call

Walking the Crossroads, sound of a train coming from West Rutland. Sounds carry better in the cold air. Call of a cardinal from a nearby pine tree.

So many things become beautiful when you really look.
Lauren Oliver
Zen page-a-day calendar

spirit

Just got in from shoveling out the driveway. We got about 7 inches of snow, a little less than predicted. As I was shoveling, the snowplow backed in to Kahle Road. Usually he just drives in and turns around on our lawn, but often this time of year the lane resembles miso soup more than a road and he mentioned his concerns with tearing up our back yard and getting stuck which would be really bad for him. I told him that the lane had hardened up a lot from last week, and that I had moved the cars to make it easier for him. I told him I would call if and when the area in question got soupy again.

After I finished shoveling, I went out to get the paper. Pete was out there shoveling his driveway. We had a nice chat, and made plans to do some star gazing a week from Saturday.

There is a palpable sense of community that exists out here on the other side of the creek. We all contend with the challenges of living in a cold climate; snow, ice, difficult driving conditions, power outages, downed trees. At the same time that there is a strong sense of independence among residents, there is also the reality that we're all in this together, and neighbors help each other out. I remember a few years ago when a huge oak limb fell across Kahle Road. There's only one way out, and we were stuck. I got out my chainsaw, and started to cut it up. It wasn't long until my neighbor appeared with his chainsaw. He said he heard the limb come down, and my chainsaw fire up. He came over to help. It wasn't long after that that another neighbor came over with his son and his chainsaw. They also wanted to help. We made short work of the oak limb. The feeling of camaraderie and connection was strong.

I saw an article recently on the states with the highest number of incoming retirees. While Vermont wasn't number one, it was in the top 10 which on some level seems kind of ridiculous. But I understand it. People come to visit here and experience the natural beauty of the place, but often they feel something more. I think they often sense the authenticity and community spirit to be found in the people who live here. It's wonderful to be a part of something like that.

Pileated

Town meeting mercifully short the other night. Nor'easter today. Pileated woodpecker seen on the apple tree in the back the other day. They are very active this time of year. Otter Creek flooding in the usual places.

On the other hand

Tinges of red in the sugar maples on the hillside. Corn snow in the back yard. Ice out on ponds. Girl Scout cookies!

delusional

We had some beautiful days last week. Sunny and temperatures in the 50's. Virtually all of the snow was gone. I actually started to believe that winter was over. At the time I was thinking this, it was the end of February. Now it's the beginning of March. We had several inches of snow late last week, and it snowed steadily all weekend. We are supposed to get another nor'easter in a few days. I have lived here for almost 40 years. I honestly wonder what I could have been thinking? How could I be so delusional. With past history as a guide, the next few weeks will be more like winter than like spring. It's certainly possible that we could have snow going into April. I've got to get a grip.

nor'easter

Nor'easter today. Original forecast was for 1" of snow. We've already had four. Big fluffy flakes of spring. Lawn signs appearing as town meeting day nears. Brush fire along Rte. 7 yesterday a sign of spring. Windshield wipers pulled away from windshields today a sign that winter remains.

melting

Sun, snow, temperatures around the freezing point make for interesting lessons in thermodynamics this time of year. The most interesting, for me, is how snow melts more quickly on west-facing slopes than east-facing slopes. I think it has to do with the interaction between warmer afternoon temperatures, and the more direct angle of the sun on west-facing slopes in the afternoon. Snow darkens before it melts. Places where snow is disappearing remind me of the coat of an appaloosa.