View from my office window
My Dog Pete
Gratuitous Dog Photo
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My brother’s keeper
We’re in the teeth of winter now. The actual temperature is -5F but the wind chill is -15F to -25F, which means the wind sweeps away your body heat at a rapid clip, and flesh freezes in mere minutes. In this bitter cold both animals and humans are suffering. Although we got our power back, not everyone did, and outside in this dangerous weather, there are people working hard to protect the rest of us, restoring power and operating community shelters.
I’m watching the turkeys this morning from my warm, comfortable vantage point on top of the hill, looking down into the woods. We have a flock1 of nineteen this year, somewhat smaller than usual, but always fascinating.
After the deer had finished their morning graze, the turkeys came down from their roosts and spread themselves among the three spots where we have put out seed. As I watched, I saw my one-footed friend—who has been with us for several years now—sit down by himself in the snow, fifteen feet removed from the rest of the flock as they fed. He knew he could not compete with the rough and tumble of the flock’s drive for food. My heart broke for him, because even though the others do seem to look out for him generally, the nature of turkeys seems querulous and wholly intent on individual survival. I told myself he would be able to eat when the rest had finished, but wished I could go out to give him his own little stash. He looked cold and lonely.
As I watched, one of the other turkeys broke off from the flock and walked over to him, nudging him gently. He got up, and together they walked to the pile of seeds, and, shielded by his friend, the injured turkey joined the others and began to feed. For the remainder of breakfast time, the limpy guy ate with all the others.
If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.
The turkeys are still here, and have been joined by squirrels, junkos, and chickadees. I know from long observation that today, instead of marching off on their usual trek, the turkeys will stay close by, puffing up their down coats, and sitting on logs somewhere out of the wind, preferably under bushes or brush piles. And they will all have eaten enough to fuel their bodies against the cold.
So, who wants to discuss how animals don’t practice altruism?
- For domestic turkeys the correct term for a group is rafter. I have been informed, however, that wild turkeys are in flocks. Don’t ask me. ↩︎
Auggie and I are watching the sunrise.
You can’t be dry in the dark
Yesterday was a curiously lost day. It was a little bit worrying to realize how much I depend upon technology, and how lost I was without it.
It was a busy day for us, however. There were branches hanging heavily with snow needing to be brushed off or beaten with a broom to keep them from breaking. There was the driveway to clear, along with the two foot high barricade of ice from the snowplow. And there were fallen branches to remove and add to the growing bonfire pile, all to the cheerful accompaniment of playful dogs.
But once we had done what could be done, we came inside to a strangely silent house.
At one point, cold, but too grubby and unshowered to go anywhere other than the hardware store, I just drove around, charging my phone and listening to music, while my exhausted husband napped. The snow was beautiful in the sunshine.
Later, despite my hair—which made me look as if I’d just been released from the local asylum—we went to a nearby restaurant for wifi, and by mutual consent, put Dry January on the ash heap of history. We met our favorite neighbors there, by chance. They had also been caught in the clutches of Dry January, and had thrown it over the night before, when their tree took out everyone’s power line. We traded anxieties about frozen pipes, spoiled food, and what to do if there was still no power on Sunday. They, too, have a pair of big sweet dogs, which we agreed tends to make you unpopular with hotel management. Our conversation was interrupted by several recorded phone calls from the power company, dangling hope with laughable vagueness.
Nevertheless, on the way home, parked alongside the road to our house was an armada of utility trucks, and the big tree that had been leaning perilously on the main lines was gone. The dogs greeted us as if we’d been gone a month, even though it had been little more than an hour. The house was ridiculously dark and growing cold, so we settled into a very early bed, with dogs and the gas fireplace to keep us warm, buckets of snow on the hearth, downloaded movies, and a decanter of Irish whisky.
This morning, the heat is on; hot coffee was waiting when I got up at 3:30; and my computer is up and running. In a little while I will reload the dishwasher and finish restoring the kitchen to its normal cheerful order. Most important: we will be able to watch the Packers game this afternoon.
As with so many life experiences, we have come away with an important lesson learned.
January is no time to give up alcohol.
***
Gratuitous Dog Photo
White out
There’s a thing called hubris, and even before the Sin of Pride it was punished by the gods. Remember my blithe dismissal of problems with the power grid? Well, it is healthy and well-maintained, but when your neighbor’s pine tree falls on it, there’s not much you can do.
We were out for our evening stroll with the dogs last night, and as we were brushing snow off lilac branches by the road, we heard a crack, and one of the 40 foot pine trees across the road just snapped off at the top and crashed to the ground.
We gathered the dogs and went inside.
I texted her to let her know, and while she and our other neighbor were outside to check it out, they found that the second neighbor had also lost a big pine and a Crabtree. And what was that bright light overhead?
Arcing power lines are no joke. So the fire department came, and after dealing with the emergency got stuck in first neighbor’s driveway.
We knew it would be moments before our power went out. I had time to fill a bathtub for flushing, plug in phones, gather flashlights, and turn on the gas fireplaces. About five minutes.
This morning it’s still dark. But we are warm, and the trusty vintage stove will make coffee for us and our neighbors as soon as there’s a bit more light to rummage in the cupboard for the French press coffee pot. Maybe those frozen croissants will be nice, too.
Meanwhile, we have an individual line that goes from the main source to our house, and although it’s dead now, it has many branches hanging on it. So even when the power comes on, the power will go right back out. I’m on hold with the power company as I write.
Meanwhile, we have lots and lots of beautiful snow, and warm, happy dogs. But the power company people are working outside in the dark to get us up and running again. Feeling lucky.
Happy weekend!
It’s a Blizzard
Or close enough.
We woke to steadily falling snow. The wind is whistling through the eaves like the sound effects in a particularly corny old movie, and the predicted snow totals have risen to a minimum of nine inches. We already have at least six, and it’s supposed to snow all day.
The dogs are in the kitchen, lying on their tummies to better savor their breakfasts of turkey bacon and eggs. There is a fire here, and fresh tulips on the mantel. My cup of coffee steams nearby.
People are stranded on the local highways, and I am betting the blowing snow makes the rural roads impassable. Semis are unable to make their way up minor slopes on the freeways. I hope they will all be merely inconvenienced.
I had planned to run out this morning on a minor errand, but that seems unnecessary. I cancelled the electrician, thinking that standing on a ladder working on light posts seemed unpromising in this weather. He seemed to agree.
Very soon I will need to bestir myself to accompany the dogs on a morning walk. Eli will not go without me, but I don’t mind. I have boots and a good parka, and sufficient inner child to find it fun.
I may have to spread the 160 pounds of bird seed I bought yesterday a bit sooner than planned. I saw the deer chewing on brush yesterday, and things will be harder now. Another child’s adventure.
The local weather guy says we may or may not meet the specific criteria for a blizzard, but why quibble?
Seems like a perfect day to stay home and design new cocktails for Roger.
If you know, you know.
***
Pertinent (as opposed to gratuitous) Dog Photos
I’m not the only one who loves winter.
Winter Joy
I don’t know why you’d live in Wisconsin if you didn’t like winter. Because I must say that the recent—and upcoming—storms have brought me a great deal of happiness. I know winter-hate is a thing, but I don’t really understand why. First, it’s beautiful. Second, there are no bugs. Third, NO BUGS. Fourth—but most important—it transforms the whole world into a different universe. In other words, it’s the closest thing I know to magic in real life.
Today we woke up to a couple more inches. It is a warmish snowfall, so it clings to the trees and rooftops, and everything is beautiful. We’re expecting hoping for nine more inches tomorrow. Ohyayohyayohyay….Then, next week, we are expecting the usual January cold to set in, with temps around ten below zero (Fahrenheit, for my international readers).
There is much to do. I have more than a hundred pounds of bird seed to buy to help the turkeys, deer, squirrels, songbirds, possums (and anyone else who’s interested) keep warm, and then it has to be hauled down the hill in the snow, one twenty-five pound bag at a time. As I have noted previously, I do not normally feed wild animals, but in weather like this, I think it’s inhumane not to try to help. And, for that matter, it’s a good time to send an extra check to the homeless shelters, where human need is heavy.
There must be a trip to the grocery store for all the things, little and big, that you might ordinarily run out to the store for on a daily basis. Going somewhere to just get out of the house isn’t really a thing in this weather, and it’s nice to have a pot of soup, or stew, or chili on the stove. I like to have ingredients for all of that on hand. Also, I can almost always finagle expired apples from the produce manager, and these are like crack for wildlife.
I have to make sure we have lots of logs for the fireplace. There’s no point in having a fireplace if you don’t enjoy it in this kind of weather. We have to make sure the gas tanks are full for both cars and the snowblower. Normally, my dogs don’t wear clothes, but in a polar vortex everything changes. I need to make sure the dogs’ winter gear is handy and ready to use. Paw balm is important, but boots are useless. They tear them right off. I’ve not yet figured out how to protect a German Shepherd’s sensitive and delicate ears, which they cannot bear to have covered, or even touched by strangers. I just have to watch the timer carefully when they go out. Flesh freezes fast.
Also, and I realize this is purely idiosyncratic: I have to buy spring flowers. Nothing is more delightful than fresh flowers in a winter storm.
As I look at this list, I can imagine someone thinking: that does not sound like fun. I understand. And it is inconvenient. But there is anticipation, and a delightful camaraderie as you go about town on your preparations. So long as you can be inside (which is essential), there is little danger in a storm like this, and our state is blessed with a power grid that is both healthy and resilient. People grouse cheerfully, and feel a sense of common cause in their mutual intrepidness. This is Wisconsin, after all, and we all feel just a bit smug about it.
Yesterday, as we cleaned up from yesterday’s storm and heard predictions of more to come, the heavy clouds were a deep snow-laden blue, foretelling the accuracy of the forecasts. The bare trees were deep purple and maroon in the demi-light, and they were outlined by the snow clinging to their trunks and branches. Everywhere was the sound of plows and snowblowers, and occasionally a scraping shovel. The deer were out browsing all night, causing frequent alarms from my vigilant shepherds. This morning, as the last flakes fall, the sun is breaking through. The turkeys were in full display, and spent more time than usual in their morning confab before setting off in their military line formation. Most of the birds are hiding, but the crows and the woodpeckers are busily conversing.
It’s been long-delayed, but winter is finally here.
It is pure joy.
A photo from one of Pete’s birthday parties, January 10, 2022.
J.F. Riordan 