Blaze Orange Markers

Cold last night—down to single digits, or nearby.  Breeze slowly building from the south this afternoon, with tomorrow predicted to be in the forties.

Ice boating scheduled for tomorrow, and thanks to Mimi's sewing skills we now have a pair of markers that will enable us to set up our own course if there is no official one, or provide Darling marks if so.

Do to a mistaken buying decision about a month ago we are enjoying corned beef and cabbage tonight. (As opposed to the traditional Wisconsin fish-fry.) Summary: way better than I thought.

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THE CAVE

Sometimes when the boy was troubled he would go
      To a little cave of stone above the brook
And build a fire just big enough to glow
      Upon the ledge outside, then sit and look.
Below him was the winding silver trail
    Of water from the upland pasture springs,
And meadows where he heard the calling quail;
      Before him was the sky, and passing wings.

The tang of willow twigs he lighted there,
      Fragrance of meadows breathing slow and deep,
The cave's own musky coolness on the air,
      The scent of sunlight... all were his to keep.

We had such places — cave or tree or hill...
      And we are lucky if we keep them still.

                   —Glenn W. Dresbach

Dinner With The Girls

Renee at a function and Bri on his way home from Minnesota so we got to take Ellie, Maddie, and Becca out for dinner. 

Gray, damp day with a blustery, penetrating wind. 

Emulating Pooh

Pooh has it figured. Though it is still a bit too cool outside to sit under a tree long term just contemplating things, Pooh has the right idea. 

And, this is pretty much the plan for the coming summer. 

Today, mostly sunny, with water running off the eves (solar power), and with a perfect iceboat wind (although no iceboats were in sight around here).

This morning, while trying to relearn Adobe InDesign, I had a great time watching the action at the bird feeder. We have doves, four I think, and these are big birds. When they come in, everyone else gets shunted aside, and one dove takes up one whole side of the feeder. Jays, however, can easily persuade doves to move on, while cardinals are content to wait until all occupation issues are resolved.

Watching the doves, it is apparent that they know what they are doing. Leaving the feeder, they often alight on the redbud, They don't have to really look at the twigs they choose to land on, and once there, a simple flick of the tail up or down keeps them perfectly balanced in spite of adverse conditions. 

Placeholder Day

All days are good days, it's just that some are more interesting than others. Today's highlight was a trip to the dentist. No, wait, cancel that—Sue is making a cranberry/apple pie!

Kentucky coffee tree still wearing ornaments. 

A walk up the hill in the snow. 

Not cold, but chilly and damp, with steady, light, mixed precip all day.  The plan is to watch some basketball, which we have not done yet this season. Gotta start gearing up for March madness.

Literary Mystery

This book showed up on the doorstep, out of the blue, anonymously. I'm thinking it might be a hint to get back to practicing the clarinet. 

Even without the music this is a nice collection of Pooh poetry. (Some of which below.)

Looking back at the up-north weekend, here are some sledders taking a trail break.  (Thanks to Dawn and Mark for sleeping quarters and snow machines.)

Above freezing all day, with a little misty drizzle right now. This is Mother Nature's prodigal son, Zamboni, working desultorily to get the ice ready for this weekend's racing.

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Lines
 —Pooh

On Monday when the sun is hot, 
I wonder to myself a lot:
 "Now is it true, or is it not,
That what is which and which is what?" 

On Tuesday, when it hails and snows,
The feeling on me grows and grows
That hardly anybody knows
If those are these or these are those.

On Wednesday, when the sky is blue, 
And I I have nothing else to do,
I sometimes wonder if it's true
That who is what and what is who.

On Thursday, when it starts to freeze
And hoar-frost twinkles on the trees,
How very readily one sees
That these are whose—but whose are these? 

On Friday—
On Friday— 
On Friday—
What did happen on Friday?

Winter Wonderland

In the Harrison Hills of north-central Wisconsin, the glacially amazing place of hills, hollows, lakes and trails.  Ice fishing, ice skating, sledding, snow-mobiling, hiking over the ice to Wild Cat Island for exploration and a treasure hunt among the giant pines. Also, reading, doing puzzles, and lounging by the fireplace.

North Woods Sojurn

Up at Bri and Renee's cottage near Rhinelander. No real internet connection. More later.  

Eve of St. Agnes

Well, actually yesterday, but since it is something I like to commorate each year, and since I forgot yesterday, I'm celebrating today. Keats' poem is, in my opinion, one of the great ones.

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St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,
Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.
His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees,
And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:
The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze,
Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails:
Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries,
He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails
To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.

Moning in Fox Point, dinner at neighbor's across the street as part of our little supper club. 

Pretty good fare, but certainly not

"a heap of candied apple, quince and plum, and gourd;
With jellies soother than the creamy curd,
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon;
Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd
From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,
From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon."

Ice Skating

Will, Mimi, and I picked Katy up from school and immediately went skating at the large and beautiful rink adjacent.  (Actually Katy skated while we other three did fun stuff that didn't require blades.)

Bearable, But Just Barely

High of 14, with minor wind. Walking was possible, though Pax did once pick up his remodeled hind leg. 

Hoar frost

Me and Wombat, getting acquainted last Saturday. Thanks to Bri for the photo. 

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To ....

It was "his mistake. He should not have built the fire under the pine tree. He should have built it in an open space. But it had been easier to pull the sticks from the bushes and drop them directly on the fire.

Now the tree under which he had done this carried a weight of snow on its branches. No wind had been blowing for weeks and each branch was heavy with snow. Each time he pulled a stick he shook the tree slightly. There had been just enough movement to cause the awful thing to happen. High up in the tree one branch dropped its load of snow. This fell on the branches beneath. This process continued, spreading through the whole tree. The snow fell without warning upon the man and the fire, and the fire was dead. Where it had burned was a pile of fresh snow."

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—Another darned quiz: name of story and author, and also how cold it was when the fire went out. 

23 Skidoo

That's what I say to this bitter weather. Walking today was misery chilled over—a high of 3 with a biting wind. Still and all, this kind of weather is necessary, and all a part of what the world should be. I marvel at how the birds, squirrels, and rabbits survive the brutal conditions, but really it just shows the power of adaptation. Humans clearly are wimps, growing up in semi-tropical conditions. But then how do you explain the Inuit or Koyukons?

One cold creek

And here are the Great Lakes... 

From the MODIS satellite. Still almost wide open, with lots of lake effect snow. Very different from the past two years. A buffalo nickel to anyone who can identify what's inside the two small blue circles.  

Bonus question:  why does the northern part of Wisconsin show up in this satellite image as darker than the southern part of Wisconsin? 

Indoors Beats Outdoors

Much as I love the out-of-doors, today I was thankful for walls and central heat. Walking outside was brutal, with a stiff wind and a thermometer hovering around zero. Pax and I talked it over and decided we would always walk downwind, but when we tried it we found the theory to have certain limitations.

Somehow, most of the birds, and apparently all of the squirrels, are surviving. But I can tell you honestly I would not want to be one of them.  (I want to be reincarnated as a merganser.) The squirrels are fat, but apparently have no interest in estivation, and a baker's dozen under the bird feeder today.

And then there's this: spruce on the cob. I don't think squirrels like spruce as much as oak and hickory, but at these temps... 

And on Manitoulin, the pine squirrels seem to love balsam fir, which, if I am not mistaken, is the source of gum Arabic. Go figure. 

Good Cold Fun

Hours and hours out in the stiff wind and deep cold on Pewaukee Lake, with the grandkids climbing snow piles, ice skating, mini-snowmobiling, and playing with new friends, while Bri and Tony raced a few good races. Childcare honors to Mimi and Abby, with me as runner up. Ab put on and removed and re-put on and removed countless pairs of ice skates, all the while suffering from icicle finger syndrome.

It turns out that Wombat is not yet fast—needing shorter shrouds, better steering, runners with more rocker—and possibly a new sail. Solstice, on the other hand, is pretty quick.

There is a big 5-kid sleepover going on right now at Bri's house (at least we can hope they are sleeping), and everyone is hunkering down inside as the temperature drops through the floor. (Of course, it could be to watch the Packer Game.)

Wombat Lives!

There were problems getting her set up, of course, but actually rather minor ones, and it appears the boat still knows how to sail, and possibly even go fast.  We've been waiting almost a year to see if our purchase was a good move or a bad mistake.

Number 10, one of the earliest of Nites. I doubt we'll ever see a lower number on the ice. Wombat is a ridiculous name, but we are so used to it now— even the grandkids run around yelling "Wombat"—that it will be a hard name to change, though I thought "Perfect" might be perfect.

Ice On Mudge

Heard from Sailor Wolf who sent this shot of Mudge Bay, recently frozen over.

Warm today in Whitewater, actually above freezing, and it is amazing how warm 34 degrees seems after a cold snap. I had to remove hat and gloves, and unzip coat this morning as Pax and I did our half loop. 

Going to set up the iceboats on Pewaukee tomorrow in order to get a jump on the next artic blast, scheduled to roar in Saturday afternoon. This is the same blast that has postponed the Nite nationals because of extreme cold.

Dog Days of Winter

Cold and blowy, with a little graupel.

Nite Nationals, which were called on last weekend, were called off today. Forecast is for a high of 2 on Sunday, and 2 is below the required cutoff of 10.  Still, there will be club racing on Saturday, so go Wombat!

Last check with the rotator cuff doc today, and I have been cleared for iceboating, chain sawing, and tree felling.  Think I'll start with the iceboating.

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Cold, With Wind...

...which makes it really cold. 

Below zero tonight, again, which is good for making ice—though last night's two inches of fluffy flakes may bollix up the sailing. Tomorrow we will know if a regatta is arranged.

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Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

—Robert Frost

Nobody Knows, Tiddely-pom...

...How Cold My Toes, Tiddely-pom, How Cold My Toes, Tiddely-pom, Are Growing. 

It was a cold one. So, to be cautious, I slathered Pax's toes with Musher's Secret. And we had a couple of great walks in which he ran and ran. 

We were up on the hill in Starin Park as dusk was descending, just standing there as big feathery flakes sifted down on us, totally calm and quiet, and we were loving being out in the cold.

Thanks for the poem, Pooh. 

Too Cold For Comfort

Windy and cold, with the bottom falling out of the thermometer. Below zero tonight. Good for ice making but not much else outside. Pax and I got in a good morning walk, though on our brief evening outing he was starting to pick up his feet.  The bird feeders have been extremely busy, with many different species in attendance.

An old saying says that "If you can't stand the cold, get into the kitchen." Thinking of this, we went grocery shopping (out of town) before the Packer  game, and came home with more than we should have.

The Moment

The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country, knowing at last how you got there, and say, I own this,

Is the same moment when the trees unloose their soft arms from around you, the birds take back their language, the cliffs fissure and collapse, the air moves back from you like a wave and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing. You were a visitor, time after time climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.

We never belonged to you.

You never found us.

It was always the other way round.

— Margaret Atwood

Becca's Birthday

Happy two, Becca

Doing math on Osmo