Sunday Drive…

…around Lake Geneva. A low-adventure, COVID-style outing for the as-yet un-vaccinated.

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Lake mostly open water. Crowd in Lake Geneva town, many sensible folks but even more morons. We had takeout from Culver’s (who seem to be taking all precautions) and lunched in the car overlooking Geneva Bay. (Pax likes Culver’s possibly more than we do.)

On the way home listened to the tape of Trump and the Georgia secretary of state—blatant criminal sedition. Republicans should be forcing Tump to resign rather than trying to stage a self-promoting coup.

Side note: with all the snow on the ground, we now have solid proof that deer are visiting the backyard bird feeder regularly. We are also pretty sure that “As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,” they did not, when met with an obstacle, come from the sky. That’s the beauty of footprints.

Eight Pounds…

…approximately, of birdseed per day. In just this one feeder. Hungry birds, especially on days like this with freezing rain, sleet, and then 4 inches of snow.

Photo by Sue

Photo by Sue

Photo by Sue

Photo by Sue

Birds have high metabolism, and need a lot of food, especially in winter. If I ate like a bird—say the Golden Crowned Kinglet, which weighs about one quarter of an ounce—I would have to scarf down something like 27 large pizzas every day.

Today—cardinals, jays, juncos, nuthatches, chickadees, downy woodpecker, red breasted woodpecker, finches, doves, and a variety of sparrows (which I still can’t differentiate). BUT, not a single squirrel. It is my hypothesis that the deep snow discourages the squirrels, who would be sitting ducks trying to wade through it. My guess is that they are holed up waiting for better weather.

Like me.

Some Snow

It tested the mettle of every snow-moving device in the stable.

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The big snowblower seemed incapable of punching through the sticky, easily compacted stuff, so our morning clearing effort was a long and arduous mix of machine and manual labor. (The new shovel performed admirably, btw.) Troubleshooting later, I discovered that the front rotor on the blower had thrown a bolt, and was thus barely functioning. (But that’s all fixed and we are ready for the next bit of weather.)

This evening, a two-hour Zoom chat with the Spaldings in Colorado. They are hunkered down on their mountain top, and are being even more careful than we are. They, like us, are hoping to make it through to vaccine time, but are somewhat chapfallen by the incompetent rollout.

Structures

Theme in blue and white.

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Bought a snow shovel today, bringing the total poised in the garage to five. No excuse for such extravagance really, but for years I have been admiring the device welded by my neighbor across the street—and now I have one just like it. “A shovel for every situation,” has long been my motto—and, by gum, snow is in the forecast.

Some Of Us…

…went ice boating. Some of us wimped out.

Photo by Brian

Photo by Brian

Bri joined a fleet of about 18 other Nites for racing on Puckaway. I walked along the shore of unfrozen Lake Geneva with Steve, the Chair of the Walworth County Democratic Party, recently resigned. Pax came with us as we tried to figure out what to do next.

Good walk and good talk, but not quite the same as rounding the windward mark on two runners.

It’s a Cold One

Low single digits last night, low double digits tonight.

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A few more Christmas-related things today, followed by naps. And for dinner tonight—prime rib and Yorkshire pudding.
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At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit’s elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.
These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed:
‘A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!’ Which all the family re-echoed.
‘God bless us every one!’ said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

Light…

…at the end of the tunnel, but not much considering the time of year.

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The day started out sunny, but got progressively cloudier until, by our late afternoon walk, conditions were dim and damp, with a windy chill. Now that daylight is in such short supply, we were actually driven to leave home for our occasional grocery shop before sunrise.

Muddling Along…

…doing mostly Elf work.

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Slightly above freezing most of the day.

Reading the book Life on a Young Planet, about what things were like 3.5 to 4.5 billion years ago. Nowadays we have oxygen, and supposedly some form of intelligence, so I suppose things are somewhat improved from the Archean period. The plot is a little rocky, but who cares in the the time of covid?

Chicken Soup…

…with barley and dumplings.

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This locally grown bird (from the farmer’s market) had a tare weight of 4.5 lbs., and, and as of tonight, will have provided 6 individual dinners, along with lots and lots of tasty tidbits for Pax.

And, speaking of Pax, he accompanied us over to campus this morning for our every-other-week virus test. Since he didn’t have a mask, he was denied access, and had to walk around with one of us while the other went in—but he didn’t seem to mind. By the time we got home we were notified that almost all of us had tested negative .

And, negative tests, along with several vaccines, along with chicken soup = Hope.
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“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
—Emily D.