Archive for February 2021
Not Bad
Even though the cold is extreme, it is not impossible to be outside enjoying the crispness of the elements. Yesterday, after giving Delilah an abbreviated opportunity to have an extra loop from the barn past the labyrinth, which gave her one last chance to pee before heading in, I spent a little extra time outside doing some clean up of the snow I pulled off the roof the day before.
The bright sunshine was providing enough energy against the shingles to evaporate some of what remained after my raking. I took a picture to see if I could capture the steamy clouds wafting up off the roof, but mostly it highlighted the smoke coming out of the chimney from the cozy fire in our fireplace.
I wandered over to the wood splitter to see how some of the stringy specimens responded to the frigid temperature. As expected, the efficiency of my treasured splitter was nicely enhanced and I quickly dispatched several logs. Splitting wood wasn’t the main thing I wanted to work on, so I left more of that for another day. The cold weather is predicted to last long enough that I will have an opportunity to make greater headway on filling the woodshed next weekend.
My main objective was shoveling the snow that had come down off the roof the day before. It buried our backup generator and I want the vents kept clear so it can breathe for its weekly automatic 12-minute maintenance run each Wednesday. That pile of snow was as dense and firm as possible after setting overnight in the deep freeze. It would have been a cinch to dig a snow-cave into that mound, but my objective was to remove it, so the density was more of a hassle.
From the generator, I made my way around the house to the back deck. The two roof-valleys on the backside of our house hadn’t been cleared yet all winter, basically a neglectful mistake on my part. Since I don’t see them every day like I do the front, they fall into the “out-of-sight, out-of-mind” category. When I do think of them, my faulty logic figures the increased sun exposure of the southern orientation will help reduce the need for my added effort.
Boy, was I wrong. As I made my way around the house with the roof rake on Saturday, each valley I came to ended up having more snow and was more difficult to pull down. I now hope this lesson will inspire me to put in the effort to stay ahead of the game by cleaning all four valleys each time snow accumulates, just to prevent it from becoming exponentially more difficult when conditions eventually force the need to avert ice dam accumulation.
While I was out on the deck shoveling, twice I heard the loud SNAP of tree trunks cracking in the cold. Since it was far from the coldest point of the 24-hour cycle of a temperature swing, it caused me to wonder if the sunshine on the dark bark contributed to some significant temperature variant that brought the stress beyond what it could handle.
It’s warm enough to melt snow on the shingles at 5-below and cold enough to grow ice formations on the facial hair of a warm-blooded human.
Harsh, but not really all that bad.
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Good Things
There is frost on several of our double-pane windows this morning, revealing which ones have been compromised by the ravages of time. Our thermometer read -21°(F) when Cyndie took Delilah out for a walk and to check on how the chickens fared overnight. She reported the heaters were holding the coop temperature to 1° which we consider a win.
If any eggs laid today don’t freeze before we find and collect them, it will be a double win.
It is the morning before the big NFL championship game and there’s an incredible matchup of two quarterbacks on opposite phases of their careers. I wonder how those two guys are coping with their Sunday morning before the game. I would be a nervous psychological mess.
Happily, I get to sit on my easy chair, snack on special treats Cyndie will serve up, and witness the real-time drama of professional athletes battling each other and their own nerves in the biggest game of the season.
The sun is out, as it almost always is on the coldest winter days, and it looks almost inviting outside. Since we have the luxury of a warm house for protection from the harsh elements, it isn’t scary to step outside for short jaunts. This morning, first thing, I spotted three squirrels frolicking in the high branches of our trees.
If they can deal with extreme cold, certainly we can, too.
I like to think about the good things that result from cold winter days. There are no annoying mosquitos. I will not be surprised by the sudden slithering of a garden snake. I don’t have to slather my arms and legs with sunscreen lotion.
I don’t feel guilty about staying inside to watch other people getting exercise in a sports competition while I consume unnecessary calories in the comfort of my warm abode.
Happy Superbowl Sunday!
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Another Saturday
Another Saturday morning when I get to choose what will get my attention. It’s hard to ignore the most prominent fact imposing its way over almost everything we pick. Our weather has entered a cold spell. In our region, winter cold spells mean below zero Fahrenheit. Not quite polar region craziness of 70-below, but days of any number below-zero bitter cold might as well have the same impact.
Preparing to exit the home module for any length of time involves donning garb that rivals climbing into a spacesuit. If you don’t like wearing a facemask for protection from spreading the coronavirus, you won’t like going outside today.
Delilah paces semi-patiently at the front door while we methodically navigate the fine art of adding multiple layers of apparel and accessories in precise order. She takes several slurps from her water bowl in preparation for the impending outing.
It occurred to me this morning that, if we didn’t have a dog or chickens, we wouldn’t need to get out of bed and go outside when it is so wickedly cold. Some people don’t have to go outside if they don’t want to. I didn’t want to go outside, but I didn’t mind that we had to.
The snow squeaked under our boot steps. Eyelashes occasionally stick together as they frost up. Moving air starts to sting exposed flesh. Every few steps, Delilah will keep one paw up and hop once or twice to give that foot a break from contacting the snow. She emphatically rejected our several attempts in the past to offer her winter booties.
The chickens seemed nonplussed by the harsh conditions. We added some extra straw to the coop and installed a radiant heat source to ease their burden a little bit. They seemed to be demonstrating their winter hardiness, as advertised for our variety of breeds.
Accomplishing our goals with minimal distractions allowed us to promptly return to the safe warmth of our spaceship where Cyndie prepared an omelet for breakfast that rivaled a 3-star chef’s and I ignited an inspiring fire in the fireplace.
I am leaving the decision for later about whether I will interrupt my indoor endorphin-producing hobbies to go outside and finish clearing the snow off the deck that I pulled down off the roof eaves yesterday.
It’s Saturday. Morning cartoons, hot cocoa, snuggling under a blanket, giggling with family, listening to music, reading a book, writing inspirations, laughing at our foibles, assembling a puzzle, staring at the fire, it’s the best day of the week type of stuff.
Baby, it’s cold outside, but that is just the way things go sometimes.
There are plenty of ways to cope and we are going to employ several of them and enjoy this Saturday to the fullest. I invite you to do the same, whether you are experiencing a polar vortex or reside somewhere closer to the equator than we do.
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Grand Illusion
The precursor to our cold snap was a brief but messy snow event yesterday. It snarled my morning commute by triggering a collision between a semi and a snowplow that closed the interstate. After I got around that, the rest of the drive both ways was uneventful, except when I slid past the entrance at work and barely navigated the unplowed township road just before home.
For added adventure, my low tire pressure light came on about 20-minutes into the morning jaunt.
Once home, I barely walked in the door and it was a quick change of clothes and immediately back outside to plow.
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Every time I put the ATV and plow attachment through their paces against the snow and ice without a mechanical failure, I breathe a sigh of relief. I only got stuck once. Cyndie came out to help by gently squeezing the throttle when I lifted and pushed to get the wheels back up on the pavement.
After the plowing was done, I moved my car from the house to the shop to put air in the low tire. As I was coiling the hose up after I was done, I popped out the quick-release chuck (which I always do because it leaks air) while also holding the pressure gauge.
So, at that moment, I had three things in my hands: hose, chuck, gauge.
I set the coiled hose over the compressor, placed the gauge under the handle where it always goes, and where is the chuck?
It’s gone. Disappeared. Vanished into thin air.
I assume I dropped it, but I never heard anything fall. I checked pockets. I checked the spot where I always put it on the compressor. I surveyed the shop floor and the ground around the car. I backed the car up scanned the plowed pavement in the vicinity.
That little piece was nowhere to be found.
I couldn’t pull off that sleight of hand trick intentionally if I tried. Sure wish I could watch a recording of that exercise to see where the chuck ended up. It was a grand illusion.
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Well Warned
Modern meteorology provides impressive advanced warning of serious weather coming our way, but knowing about it so far in advance and hearing about the impending extremes over and over for days in a row tends to inflate the impact beyond reality.
Sure, it’s going to get cold. Thanks for letting us know. Now talk about something else.
Cyndie ordered some fancy heaters for the chicken coop, hoping they arrive quick enough to take the edge of the bitter cold our birds will be subject to with nothing but their fluffed feathers to insulate them. One protection we read about involves covering their wattles and combs with petroleum jelly to stave off frostbite. We’d have to catch them, first.
Neither of us wanted to put the chickens (or ourselves) through the added stress of that escapade.
Yesterday it was above freezing here. By Sunday, they are telling us the high temperature for the day won’t make it out of the negative digits.
We appreciate the warning.
Now I’m going to think about something else.
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Too Late
By the time I got home from work to check for eggs yesterday, I was too late to do anything for this perfect specimen:
Warm when it was laid, the egg melted its way down into the ice on the path between the coop and the barn. After it cooled, it became locked in the resulting ice that surrounded it.
One of the hens just isn’t getting the hang of this egg-laying thing. At least, we hope it’s just one. This is the fourth egg laid out in the middle of nowhere. Somebody isn’t yet reading the signals in her body that trigger the others to head back to the coop for the nest boxes.
Meanwhile, two others did make use of the nest boxes and it appears we may have another one of those 1-in-a-thousand double-yolk eggs based on the size of one of those eggs.
Never a dull moment in the early egg-laying phase of raising chickens, especially when it happens to coincide with the harsher months of winter.
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Project Endorphins
During the winter, I like to assemble jigsaw puzzles. With the pandemic forcing us to stay home, I have more opportunities to puzzle. Now that Cyndie has developed a new interest in puzzling, I am all the more enticed to feed the passion.
But I am torn. I have another project that is competing for my attention at the same time. I’ve started another wood sculpture out of a section of one of our ash trees that was cut down last year.
Last night, it occurred to me that working on shaping the wood gives me the same mental rewards as putting together a jigsaw puzzle. It’s tactile. It involves transforming something into a visually appealing end result.
If you have seen the Pixar/Disney computer-animated comedy-drama film, “Soul,” you will understand the euphoric trance of being “in the zone” of our passions.
Working to shape the wood with rough grit sandpaper, I felt the familiar euphoria of pleasing progress that was just like the reward I get from puzzling.
It’s also a lot like devouring a good book. You don’t want to put it down. You are willing to sacrifice sleep to continue progress. When you are away from [the book/puzzle/sculpting], all you want is to get back to it as soon as possible.
You want more of those project endorphins.
I want more of those project endorphins. Who has time to eat? How am I supposed to go to work?
I want more time to be in that euphoric zone.
For both projects.
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Never Over
When I looked last night, the COVID-19 death toll for the U.S. was beyond 450,000. Multiply each individual death by the number of people who loved them and the total is easily beyond two million.
While I pine for the day when we can look back and realize this pandemic is officially behind us, the harsh reality remains that for all who will have lost a loved one to the disease, it will never be over.
This moves my impatience to a much more humbled perspective.
To everyone coping with the permanent loss of a person to the virus, I pause to contemplate your grief and lift up my heartfelt love as a soothing balm for your pain.
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Relative Something 