In and Out

Merry Christmas from the land of birch and cedar, snow and stars! In this season when nights are long and dark, I hope your holidays are bright and sparkling.

Rising temperatures and freezing rain are predicted for tomorrow here, unfortunately. But for now we have rather a lot of snow outside:

And we have snow inside, too!
Gingerbread snow:

Window snow:

And a flurry of craftiness, too. I declared a moratorium on house projects for the month of December, and filled the gap with heaps of other things. I returned to the long-standing tradition that I missed last year and made a stack of cards to mail out to friends across the country.

And now I have at least five more works in progress and not one complete! This may be the Christmas of half-finished handmade. Knitting with needles still attached and clothes with the seams unsewn. If it’s the thought that counts, then I’m thinking I’d better start earlier next year!

Seasonal Sparkle

It's becoming a habit. Something catches my eye on the morning walk and, once home, I have to grab my camera and forge out on a second loop in an attempt to capture it. One of these days I'll learn to take the camera with me in the first place. In the meantime, I get extra exercise. And another look at the splendor to be seen in the ragged square of meadow and drainage ditch and woods and pine plantation on the far side of that road.

This morning it was the sun shining through an enchanted forest of ice-encrusted willows and cattails and grasses. I saw nothing like this anywhere else in the neighborhood, so I'm curious what conditions caused these delicate frost crystals to form just here.

 

There was definitely a directional effect in the way the crystals were arranged. So a bit of research leads me to believe this was advection frost or wind frost. The temperature dropped pretty significantly the night before, from the right-near-freezing mark where it had been hovering down into the teens. A cold wind probably blew across the open meadow on the opposite side of the path, chilling all the surfaces so that water vapor in the still-humid air froze when it made contact. The results, when the sun rose behind the scene: Splendid!

Maisie on Snow

Hey, Maisie here. There's something about snow that makes me want to run around like crazy and then throw myself to the ground and just roll all over. Feels so good! And there's something about snow that makes Kate want to get out the camera and take a million pictures. At least half of them of me.

This is me with my friend Powell. He likes snow too.

 And he really likes tennis balls. Especially if I have the tennis ball.

Yup, that's my frisbee. You can throw it for me now.

 

Thanks!

Catching Snowflakes

If you stick out your tongue around here, you're likely to catch a snowflake. (Thanks for the obliging demonstration, Maisie.) We've had a lot of snow this week! (A total of 33 inches so far in December, according to the weather service.)

Schools were closed. Plows were on frequent patrol. The big boots marched out of the closet, and I quickly got reacquainted with my snow shovel. My car battery died. Nighttime neighborhood walks became strikingly beautiful, with Christmas lights sparkling out from under mounds of snow and through rows of gleaming icicles.

When I noticed Maisie excavating in the garden and munching on the remaining kale, I decided it was high time for the final harvest. Here's a bucket of frozen broccoli, brussels sprouts, kale, parsley, cabbages, and whatever else I found beneath the blanket of white.

Friday's second helping of stone soup was very cozy, with ice lanterns at the front door, a fire burning in the fireplace, lights on the tree and greens on the mantel, and lentil soup and gingerbread cookies in the kitchen. Alas, it was not so well attended as the first. Thanks to Michelle for making the trek through the drifts! Maisie and I both enjoyed your company. And the Subaru enjoyed being called into service, battery all recharged, to help get Birch Point farm produce to the next day's market.

On Saturday the sun came out, after nine days of snow in a row. It was so lovely on our morning walk that I had to go back and get my camera. So I got my skis, too, and took a gliding photo-tour.

I wish you could see what color the sky really was, not what the camera recorded. Much deeper blue, making such a perfect contrast with the dark green of the trees and the thick white frosting on the branches.

I love the "light at the end of the tunnel" effect that sunny days give this path through the spruces.

And I love the little teepees that have lumped up around every stem in this windswept snowscape.

The truth is, I just love snow!

Snow, Seriously

Snow is here in a big way. It's been coming down pretty steadily since the end of last week, but accumulating slowly. It gathered some momentum overnight, though, and we woke to a very wintry world indeed. More in the forecast for the rest of the day and the rest of the week. Here are a few scenes from our morning walk.

  Our tracks were the first ones on the trail.

Meanwhile, Miss Maisie has been seized by the annual snow sillies. Look at her go!

Bird Project Progress

Hello, little chickadee! Thanks for dropping in for a snack.

(So far, my experiment is going well. Here we are in Phase 2...)

The World in White

Guess what's falling from the sky today? Yes, of course. Snow. Turning everything to gorgeous.

We've had a bit before now - a few flakes here, a morning dusting on the rooftops there. But this is the first that's transformed the whole landscape. Made delicate lacework of tree branches and feathery fronds of the tall grasses in the meadow. Turned every lawn into a softly spiked white carpet. And that view of fluffy flakes swirling down against a backdrop of deep green spruces and pines - oh, I do love that.

Beneath the busy birdfeeder, I have begun an experiment. A hint:

Stay tuned - I hope to report success before too long!

Tracks in the Snow

Here is a lovely paradox about snow. It covers the ground, hiding many details of the landscape under a uniform blanket of white. But at the same time, it reveals something. Suddenly, the once-invisible comings and goings of both humans and animals are plainly written for all to see.

Says Tom Brown Jr., "Everything that moves on the earth leaves a story. As you read the story of one animal, you will begin to see how it connects with others. You will discover that the separate scrawlings of each day are interconnected, and that similar themes run through chapters reaching many pages back."

Thanks to the recent arrival of winter, even those of us who aren't master trackers can see that our neighborhood is full of the trails left by creatures going about their days. Even when we seem to be walking in solitude through the snowy world, we're surrounded by signs that we're not alone at all.

Buttoned Up for Winter

The house got a facelift! The promised and long-postponed update is here at last, now that I've finally finished all the odds and ends and can proudly put the new version on display. Just in time for winter, here's what's been accomplished (mostly by my faithful building crew, Uriah, Jay, and John, with assistance from me wherever possible):

• Washing all the moss and other crud off the roof. Looks brand new!
• Stripping off all the vinyl siding. (Good riddance!)
• Removing the sagging, drafty vinyl windows. (B'bye!)
• Replacing the windows with wood-framed, aluminum-clad ones with sufficient environmental credibility to qualify for this year's tax credit (in a jaunty new shade of red).
• Calling Alper's Insulation to drill holes in the old wood siding and blow in cellulose to fill up the walls that have, apparently, been completely empty all these decades that the house has been standing.
• Putting up new cement board siding (durable, low maintenance, and relatively "green").
  
• Replacing the front entry light with one that actually works.

And the back of the house, with a few more exciting changes to report:

• New location for the back door! By moving it over and up a couple steps, I (and the ever-eager Maisie) now have a straight shot from the kitchen to the great outdoors, instead of a sharp turn and an awkward perch on a narrow landing. And, even better, when it rains, water no longer runs down the basement steps.
• New back door, too. New-used, that is - it was sitting in the basement of my dad's office and is now happily employed again, all scrubbed and with a fresh coat of red paint.
• Buried power lines and cable internet line. Hooray, the spaghetti of wires above my head is now invisible underfoot.
  
• Yes, that's still vinyl siding on the right side. It's all insulated and wrapped and fresh underneath, but we put the vinyl back up for now because I'm still deciding what I might do with that part of the house. (Sunroom? Screened porch? Deck? Just keeping the options open.)
  
• French doors off the dining room! I can't even tell you how excited I am to be able to see into the yard from inside the house. And Maisie is that much more thrilled. This is where she spends the better part of her days now:

As usual, if you want the extended tour, come on over for a look around here.

Frosty

A month ago, in the midst of a chilly, wet October, we seemed to be hurtling headlong straight into another early winter. Instead, November brought blue skies and sunny days and temperatures in the upper 50s and even 60s. Much as I love cold and snow, this reprieve has been a gift. A chance to get all the leaves raked out to the street and the mountain of dirt in my backyard wrestled into submission. To plant the perennials that have been languishing in pots since I bought them cheap at various fall sales. To stack two cords of firewood for winter warmth. To put a coat of red paint on the new back door and touch up the house trim with a second coat of white or brown or red, depending on its location (the first coat having been applied in the garage with numb fingers back in October). To ignore the remainder of the to-do list and instead spend all afternoon last Saturday on a long road-bike ride to Suttons Bay with friends, roller-coastering up and down hills and enjoying late fall views of fields and orchards and the blue of Lake Leelanau and the bay.

But the year is rolling on, too. The days are growing short. The afternoons may be warm and sun-drenched, but the air chills down quickly as darkness falls. Each morning, the leaves underfoot are iced over with a delicate layer of frost. A few days this week, even the willow branches and dry goldenrod stems have been glittering in the sun. Soon, snow will fall. And thanks to the sunshine of late, I think I'm actually, almost, ready!

How to Make Stone Soup

Remember the tale of stone soup? A hungry traveler boils up some water with nothing but a rock in it, arousing curiosity with claims that it will soon be a delicious pot of stone soup. One by one, townspeople come by and offer up soup-worthy items (a carrot, a potato, a handful of parsley) to improve this dubious meal. In the end, there is good soup indeed, as well as a whole community gathered to share it.

My friend Gretchen introduced me to the "stone soup potluck" while I was living in DC. It's a communally-concocted pot of soup: Each guest brings a favorite soup ingredient, everyone gets busy chopping and tossing things into the pot, and it always turns out different but delicious. Gretchen had brought the idea with her from Seattle and has since moved on to Austin; now that I'm settled in TC, it seemed the right time to introduce it to yet another state. With winter on the way, soup season here already, and my house put back together sufficiently for guests, I just needed to find out if I know enough people in Traverse City to pull off a potluck.

Turns out I do! And here's the recipe for this particular pot-o-soup, which I will dub Friday the 13th Stone Soup and be thankful that no severed fingers or blenders-gone-mad were involved. (Anyone present for the post-soup conversation is thankful, too.)

1) An hour or so before folks are due to arrive, finish madly mopping floors, vacuuming rugs, and cleaning up the mess left after the plumber's visit earlier in the day. Take stock of what's in the frig. Make stock out of the results: onion, garlic, carrots, celery root greens, parsley and thyme. Dash to Oryana for cornbread ingredients while the stock is simmering.

2) After Robin and Paul arrive with rutabagas and a side of spicy lime coleslaw, and Jon bikes in with some carrots and a potato, head out to the garden with Robin to harvest salad greens in the dark. By moonlight (or garage-light), pick a bowlful of lettuce, arugula, mustard, and mizuna. Return inside to greet Sarah, who has arrived with a basket of bread.

3) Gather the crew of willing workers and equip them with knives. Chop some onions and start them sauteing. Employ Sarah washing salad greens in the just-installed-today laundry sink, while in the kitchen Robin preps carrots and Jon dices his potato.

4) Pile in more veggies - celery root and garlic and, when Colleen and Chris arrive with mushrooms, those too. Add salt. Plop in a few dollops of tomato paste.

5) Strain and add the aforementioned stock. Throw in a few handfuls of Chris and Colleen's barley and set it all a-simmering.

6) Migrate from the kitchen, filled to max capacity, out to the living room to sit by the fire. Say hi to Marty, who has just arrived with an array of farm-fresh veggies from Birch Point CSA.

7) While chopping up some beautiful radishes and turnips for the salad, taste the soup and contemplate what else it might need. Throw in some kale-and-chard balls from the freezer. Snip in a goodly mix of garden herbs (parsley, thyme, oregano). Season with more salt and pepper and cumin and a bit of cayenne.

8) Declare it done and serve it up!

9) Before dinner is quite complete, add some late-arriving heirloom beans from neighbor Michael. And look out as the snoozing Maisie transforms instantly into crazy Maisie with the arrival of her best pal Powell.

10) Conclude with a delicious pumpkin pie, made from scratch with a pumpkin that also hailed from the fields of Birch Point Farm. (Nice work, Marty!) Transition from disturbing talk of mangled body parts to heartening talk of Traverse City politics with our just-sworn-in-this-week mayor. But hold on to your wine glass - here come the dogs, tongues hanging down to their knees after careening around the backyard nonstop since step #9. And throw another log on the fire for one last warm-up before everybody heads out into the chilly night.

Less than a year ago, I was the stranger from the tale, newly arrived in town with a big empty pot. This evening, I sat in a circle of family and friends - cousin plus incipient new family member (arriving in April - stay tuned!), staff from the Conservation District where I volunteer, a local CSA farmer (from the farm where I also volunteer), a mariner who travels the Great Lakes for weeks at a time, a good neighbor and his canine sidekick, and yes, even the mayor! Thanks, everyone, for coming along and adding interesting things to the evolving soup. And I hope there will be many more opportunities to make something terrific out of the chance assortment of ingredients tossed together by the universe!

All Fall Down

Fall is rapidly turning toward winter. For a few minutes today, something white was definitely falling from the sky. But before the rich warm colors and crisp edges and earthy scents of this season give way to the clean, white, rounded shapes of the next, here are some images I've collected lately.

Lovely leafy outlines on a wet walk:

 

 

Satisfying stack of firewood in my yard:

Late fall garden, now populated primarily by carrots, parsley, various members of the cabbage family, and lots of leafy greens:

 

Maisie, sunlit on a rare day when the clouds parted:

Tree felled by busy neighborhood beavers along the trail where Maisie and I walk every morning:

Silky seeds from an exploding milkweed pod, ready for whatever adventures the next gust of wind brings:

Still life with pears: