The Frogs Make It Official

Yesterday, and the temperature hit near 70 degrees, the pond behind the neighbors began to burble with the sound of frogs. Yup, it's official , albeit one day early, spring is here. Adding to the cacophony, cardinals sang from nearly every treetop, vying for space. But the biggest voice from the birds, is the little Carolina wren, singing his heart out, flitting from the fence to the rooftop.

Signs of Spring

Last night, a barking fox yanked Callie out of her sleepy stupor. She stood by the window, peering outside, and pacing the floors, whining to be let out. The critters are out and about with this warm weather. The skunk cabbage spathes have pushed up through the stream-side muck, slowly opening up with the sun's heat. And the birds--the winter birds are telling us all--spring has sprung!
We may have one more run of sap and then maple sugaring season will be over--a short year with 90% Grade B syrup, but enough to hold us through until next winter.

Late Winter Hike in Punkintown

Writing in the Dark

The neighborhood goes dark, back to the 1800's. As the wind thrashes the windows and moans through the maples, I backtrack through the house, turning off the oven, the TV, the lights--all those 21st century appliances. The storm's intensity is making Callie uneasy. She follows me around the house, hard on my heels. I give her a reassuring hug.

Callie and I hunker by the woodstove, the lanterns giving off a warm yellow glow. Her fur, rain-softened, tickles my nose. She must sense my worry. The remaining 100 year old maple has stood steadfast through a century of storms. I'm hoping it will make it through the 60 mile an hour winds, and the thawed muddy ground, softened around its roots.

On a February night, this should be snow, banking the house to the sills, drifting over the sleeping gardens, blanketing the roof with a layer of insulation. The rain runoff has braided streams of meltwater on the back slope leaving islands of ice like a riparian delta. A steady stream tinkles down the gutter. We're getting an April-like downpour, thrusting global warming into our faces. How can it be denied with weird weather like this?

With the high-tech entertainment down for the duration of the storm, it's time to catch up on that pile of library books by the corner chair. With the lamp by my side, I delved into the top book on the stack...and drift away.

Wishing I was in Vermont

I'm torturing myself today, watching YouTube videos of the snow falling at Mad River Glen. As the rain pelts down outside, no doubt seeping into my cellar, I'm reading a snow report of 18 to 20 inches and counting! Being stuck in SW Maine is killing me--if I could only slap on my tele-boards and spend a day carving turns in powder until my quads burn so bad I need to quit. They ain't kidding when the say, "Mad River Glenn, ski it if you can"--I'm too far away to make it in a day's drive!

We Tapped the Trees Today, Oh Boy...

Let the games begin. Evenings spent sitting by the cooker, stirring sap amid clouds of steam, waiting for liquid gold to form. Yes, it's time for maple sugaring again. Our winter is warming up fast, so I'm not sure what kind of a run we will get. This week's offering is snow, sleet, and rain, but the temps are not supposed to get much below freezing. Without the correct temperature swing, we may have a lean sap year much like we've had a lean snow year.

For all the people grumbling about winter, I ask, "Do you like maple syrup?" Without winter, you won't get that delicious sweetness that comes along right around mud season--the tween time of winter and spring when the chickadees and titmice trill in the trees, the sun warms your back, and you can hear the snow melting as it pops and percolates into the ground.

My woodpile is shrinking. I've reached levels where I'm unearthing the seed caches of mice and chipmunks. Papery-thin snake skins whisper over my hands, and last years leaves crunch between logs.
I can smell the different types of wood now.

Global warming nay-sayers need only look at the mild/weak winter we've had to see the weather effects from our warming atmosphere. I wonder how many more sugaring seasons we may see in the this corner of Maine. We have to do more than switch out a few lightbulbs and bring our own bags to the grocery store!

Seed Ordering Time

It's that time already--the cold winds of winter howl around the house while John and pass seed catalogs back and forth, planning the gardens. So yesterday, I sent in the first seed order (minus one pepper variety they are already sold out of!) with more to follow. I find it hard to think about gardening when my mind is still wrapped around skiing (of which I haven't done nearly enough) and other snowy activities. But the early orderer gets her picks. If we wait too long, the high demand varieties are gone!
But before we start the seedlings, I have to get through the craziness of maple sugaring season, which is just around the corner in a few weeks! We'll be busy for an intense week or two, boiling down sap for next year's supply for syrup. As I type this, I'm eating oatmeal, drizzled with last year's syrup and dotted with crystalized sugar chunks--yum!

Winter adventure in the woods

We finally have enough snow for skiing in the woods. Callie and headed up Punkintown Rd. and off down a snowmobile trail. The hemlocks were stooped over the trail so thickly in one place, that even the snowmobiler gave up. I followed the tracks of an intrepid snowshoer, then blazed off on my own, breaking trail for Callie Lou. On our return trip, Callie's sprints settled into short dashes, and then jogs to keep up with me on the down hills. She's learning cross-country ski etiquette--not to stand on my skis, and if she wants to be out front, she needs to keep going! We had a blast, and she was pleasantly pooped. I can hear her snoring by the fire now.

Skiing with Callie Lou

Winter Laundry

It's always get a chuckle hanging laundry on winter days. First, I need to don my snowshoes (so I don't ruin my pristine ski trails through the back yard under the clothesline). Then I need to haul the basket up on my sledge so it doesn't fill with snow. And finally, after hanging in the weak sun for 7 hours, the dungarees are still stiff as boards. I take the clothespins off, and holding them by the legs, fold them in half, and then again, jamming them into submission. The last step for winter laundry is draping everything around the fire and enjoying the smell of sunshine inside!