and the nothing that is

 Full moon, the "Wolf" moon last night.

OK, not a wolf, but a coyote (I think) taken with my new trail cam.

Heading into the coldest stretch of the winter. Temperatures below zero and wind chills 20 below. I think the morning walk may be on the treadmill.

The Snow Man

By Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice

The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun, and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener who listens in the snow,

And nothing himself beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

seasons

 The Christmas season is over. We took out the tree the other day.

Yeah, yeah, I know.

Season of smoke, season of icicles.

and yet...

 Another couple of inches of snow yesterday. Primary colors are white, brown, and gray. Yet... it is still light out at 5:00. A month ago it was dark at 5. The birds are making much more noise now on the daily walk. Not every day but some days. There are the usual calls of the crows and jays, but they seem much more energetic. There are new sounds coming from the birds. I think the chickadees have changed from their winter call to their spring call, establishing their territory. It also sounds that there are some new birds that have made it back from wherever they've been.

There are a couple of maple sap gathering places on the walk. Yesterday I saw some signs of activity at one of them.

It might be wishful thinking on my part, but maybe they are gearing up for the sap gathering season, checking their taps and lines. We haven't heard from the guys that tap at our place, but I know that in year's past they have gotten started in January. They have even had some sap runs if we're experiencing a January thaw (not this year). It's not obvious but things are changing.

 

Whether through the patterns left in snow, or geese honking in the dark, or the brilliant wet leaf that hits your face the moment you are questioning your worth, the quiet teachers are everywhere, pointing us to the unlived portion of our lives.

Mark Nepo

Zen page-a-day calendar

liminal

 I was on the road early Sunday morning. I had caught a couple of mice in the garage with my Hav A Hart traps and was transporting them to their new home. On Being, with Krista Tippett, was on the radio. She was interviewing Katherine May on her book, Wintering. 

Tippett: You talk about snow as such a unique and complex experience, and loving snow, even has a complex experience.

May: I think snow--what I love about snow is the way it makes a clean break. It transforms the landscape.

Everything's different. Everything sounds different. The light kind of sparkles off it. You know, before you open the curtains, that snow has landed. And, for me, I just think that's  such a gift. I know it's less of a gift if it's there for five or six months. But it's a break in the routine. It's a little like a kind of pause. You can't go about your normal business. School chucks out. But you get to see your world in a different way. And it is beautiful.

I grew up in quite an unbeautiful place, and snow used to make it beautiful. And I used to absolutely love that. And now I live in a very beautiful place, and snow makes it magical instead, when it comes.

Tippett: Somewhere you say that snow creates a liminal space, a crossing point between the mundane and the magical.

 

It was gratifying to hear someone else weigh in on what I had been seeing and feeling. May had so much more to say in this interview that was interesting. I would recommend it to anyone.

Happy Birthday to Shawn, my other daughter!

winter

 The middle of winter. Sometimes there is a thaw at this time, but not this year. We had a number of days in a row with 1-2 inches of snow. It was wonderful.

It felt like I was living in a cloud, in a world of whiteness. Even walking on a snow covered road felt like walking on a cloud. As one of the blog readers said the other day, the snow muffles sound. There were quite a few days when cars got very close when approaching from behind before I heard them, again projecting this feeling of softness/cloudness. The characteristic of the snow would change during the course of the day, falling softly like feathers, then buzzing around in the sky like white-colored gnats.

The last couple of days have been sunny and cold, 6 below zero in the morning. 

Scraping sound of a snow shovel on a driveway. Clatter of icicles falling on the bricks outside the front door as they are unmoored from the eaves by the afternoon sun. There has been a lot of snowmobile activity. Cars with snowmobile trailers on country roads, tracks in the snow.

I know this will all get very old by the end of February, but for right now, things are the way they're supposed to be in January. Happy to be a part of it.

 

 

 

The new dawn

 

The new dawn blooms as we free it.

For there is always light

If only we're brave enough to see it.

If only we're brave enough to be it.

 

The Hill We Climb

Amanda Gorman

hopping around

 Experiencing some snowy days. It's that time of year. 

I went up to check on our new trail camera the other day. It was snowing so the old tracks had been covered over with fluffy snow. There were a few new tracks and virtually all of them, about a half dozen, were rabbit tracks. I didn't realize how many rabbits there are hopping around the place.

The Sunday sermon

 

 

 

tracks

 When you live in a spot bordering forests and fields, you get glimpses into the life or death drama going on there even though the majority of the goings on remain hidden. The curtain rises ever so slightly during the wintertime as the tracks of animals are etched in the snow. This is what I saw the other day when looking out the back window in the morning.

Something had been prowling around in the back. The tracks were everywhere. At first I thought it was a squirrel, but now I'm thinking it was a skunk even though there wasn't any skunky smell. I have no idea what it was digging for.

I got a trail camera for my birthday, and we went up to the back field to see if we could find a good spot for it. Tracks were everywhere. Here's some of what we saw.

 

coyote? bobcat?

rabbit I think

 

turkey

 deer yard, lots of prints

We saw a lot of areas like this where the forest floor had been worked over. It looked like both turkeys and deer had been searching for acorns.

markings of turkey feathers?

We got the trail cam. The model we got actually is supposed to send the photos to us so we can view them on my phone or on our computer. It was not easy getting it formatted. Fortunately one of us is computer literate, not me. We set it up in a marshy area where we had gotten photos of bobcats with our old trail cam. No photos yet. When we were heading up there yesterday, I saw an owl briefly as it headed into the woods. We've lived here about 40 years and it's the first owl I've ever seen. All in all, a good day.

robins?!?!

 

Walking on the crossroads yesterday, and saw about 10 robins congregating in a patch of multifloral rose. On my return trip through this same stretch of road,  the flock had expanded to about 30. Maybe I've seen flocks of robins in January before, but if I had, I don't remember it. From looking at various sites on the internet, it seems the situation with robins is similar to bluebirds. Some of them will winter in Vermont and the number of robins depends on things like how cold it is, how much snow, how much food.

Temperatures have been in the 30's lately with nighttime temps in the 20's. It might not sound like it to some of you out there, but that's warmer than normal. The relative warmth might explain the flock of robins I saw yesterday.

"dead" of winter

 I've always thought of the time between now and February 20th as the "dead" of winter. Here goes.

buried diamonds

 The loop that we walk heads north, south, east, and west. There is a spot when heading south on a sunny day that the sun reflects of the snow. It is amazingly warm. Sun glints off icy patches in the road. The ice looks like buried diamonds.

bringing in the wood

 During the winter months, the wood stove in the kitchen is central to our lives. Most people who heat with wood will tell you that there is something special about the heat that radiates from a wood stove. We have a wood rack next to the stove that needs to be refilled every 3-4 days. 

So a couple of times a week we need to bring in the wood. It's always the same. We put on our woodworking jackets and gloves. I head outside and clear away the snow, raise the tarp, open up the storm door. 

 

I grab 4-5 pieces of wood and bring them to the back door where I hand them off to Allyn. She heads to the wood rack and I go back to the wood pile, and we meet again and again at the back door for the transfer of BTU's. Nothing is said until the rack is full and Allyn says, "I think that's enough." I put the tarp back and secure it with wood and a pallet. Allyn sweeps the kitchen floor. We have been doing this kabuki dance during the winter months for many years. It is, on the one hand, routine and mundane, yet, on the other hand, satisfying and meaningful. We do it together.

foxes!

 This morning I was watching the news about yesterday's political melee in Washington DC when I spotted a fox trotting through the back field. I don't remember seeing them often in winter, mostly in the spring and early summer. Got some photos.

 

Our neighbors have poultry and when I see foxes heading in that direction, I go outside and try to scare them away. As I did that this morning, I saw another fox coming from the other direction. They sniffed each other in a friendly way and then scampered off towards the lower meadow. Trying in my own small way to protect both foxes and chickens, I called my neighbor and gave him a heads up. He said his chickens were safely ensconced in his chicken coop for the time being. 

During these dark days of winter, it is very uplifting to see any sort of animal activity. Some animals seem even more energized than usual during these cold winter months. Living exclamation points in the forms of foxes, blue jays, chickadees and bluebirds.

sound in winter

 Wintertime in Vermont is a different world. When walking outside, the whistle of the train from West Rutland (about 4 miles away) sounds like it's just around the corner. Why is that? Discovery.com says:

On a cold day, there tends to be a layer of warmer air above the cold pockets closest to the ground. When you shout to a friend down the street or hear your bus (finally!) arriving, the sound wave that would ordinarily go out in all directions gets refracted by that warm air. Because sound moves faster in warm air than colder air, the wave bends away from the warm air and back toward the ground. That's why sound is able to travel farther in chilly weather.

 

flip flops

 Coats, boots, hats and the like sprouting on and near the kitchen coat rack like mushrooms on a September morning. 

Recently I had to go out and rake off the roof. Started out with the usual clothing and then added: snow pants, gaiters, hat, gloves, neck warmer and boots. It was really astonishing how long it took me to get ready to go outside. A friend who reads this blog told me when she retired that she never again wanted to live in a place where she couldn't get through the day in flip flops. She doesn't live here anymore during the winter.

whoa

 Sitting in front of the computer reading the recap of the Warriors win over the Trail Blazers. Then I looked out the window.

Happy Birthay, John!

 Happy Birthday, John! If you're 40 then that means I'm old. 

John and his sister take after their mother, extremely high praise.

Happy New Year!

 Good morning. Sun rising. Squirrels scampering. Stream flowing. Coffee brewing. Happy New Year!