39 below zero

That's what the thermometer out the back kitchen window says. 39 below. That's Alaska cold. It's hard to get one's mind around the depth of the frigidness. Pretty hard to have an argument about global warming on a day like this. I'm really glad Glenn Beck had to cancel his stay, so we don't have to get into one of those "See? Al Gore's an idiot and don't give me science" discussions over dinner. It just ruins a visit. I mean, he's an energetic, emotional, ADD kind of guy; he can be likeable. And we'd bought all the materials he likes to use to make his charts, lots of sharpies and crayons and paste. And there's a big pile of old magazines in the corner he loves to tear through for pictures like Edward Scissorhands. It makes him happy. BUT him not being here, well ... things work out for the best. And he always brings tea for a host gift. It was cute the first time, but it gets old quick.

Have I told you yet that it's COLD?!! Richard told me "the moment you step outside you'll feel it" and I did, but it was subtler than I expected, not a grip, but a slow insidious icing from within. I walked past Richard's shuddering car on my way up to check the geese. He was idling it, trying to warm it up for a trip to the post office, but it groaned and hacked in pain - too much smoking from the looks of the intermittent puffs coming out of its exhaust pipes - and I could see the glow from its Check Engine light as I passed. Poor baby. I had some old lettuce and cabbage leaves for the geese, hoping it wouldn't harden to ice on my way. They weren't calling out like they usually do and as I got closer I could see a thin layer of ice over their coats from their dunks into the water bucket. It was hard to reconcile the chatline assurances that they would be fine, they're suited for this weather. And they did perk up with a bit of elan when I offered the grub. Shmuel's bites seemed as hardy as ever, their arguing with one another seemed as lively as ever. We'd been discussing bringing them into the garage for the night, preparing a makeshift sanctuary to give them a little break. This cold must burn up a lot of calories. But again, we're assured that their feathers keep them warm as toast points, and their feet are wrapped with tough coverings that help prevents their body heat from escaping. When a foot happens to get a little chilled, they balance on one while treating the other to a warm wrap of wing feathers. They're incredible.

I'm in the midst of a cleanse. It's something I embark on once or twice a year to detoxify my body, give it a nutritional boost, and, as an added perk, shave off a few of those pesky holiday pounds. But cleansing isn't that conducive to keeping warm in the midst of a cold snap. Even here in the kitchen I know when I've wandered to far away from the warmth of the wood stove. That sound you hear is the clack of my teeth chattering. But all's well. The carol "In the bleak midwinter" comes to mind. But I look outside to the brilliantly bright shine on the snow. The sky is this soft cerrulean, laid back, relaxed, arms behind its head, admiring the skiiers and snowmobilers that have the will to brave the chill somewhere down below. And the Eye on the Sky forecast from (is this correct?) the Fairbanks Museum??!! Oh, not Alaska. Anyway, the report on VPR says it'll get to zero today, so things are looking up. It's all just as it should be and I intend on enjoying it. The cats seem to be. They're all curled up and nestled near the fire, visions of sugarplums or fields of catnip dancing around in their little furry heads, teaching me once more the beauty in naps. Books beckon, it's the perfect day for reading. And there are plenty of projects to either embark on or continue the voyage. A little bit of poetry will be fun, writing AND reading. Possibly today would be the perfect time to pull out all the accourtrement we'd purchased for Glenn and use it instead to lay out a garden plan for Spring. Yes. And order seeds. There we go. Hope springs eternal.

Oh, before I forget, Richard has two hunks of eggs incubating, in two separate incubators. A couple dozen. Last night I had to ask him 'Am I crazy or didn't you tell me you weren't going to start hatching until March?" I hadn't been crazy, he had said that, and his rather flimsy defense was "I couldn't help myself." Hmmm? A bit compulsive and I would've appreciated a discussion about this before it happened, but there you are. Fodder for a future blog.

Stay warm, dream big.

Up early on a chilly morning

Moonbright outside, day turned inside out. The trees are trying to scare one another with long Nosferatu branch shadows clawing up the hill. It's shivery cold, 10 below at least and getting lower this weekend, possibly down to 30 below. We'll have to pay special care to our dear geese and turkeys. Conditions may lead us to make our garage a manger for a night or two. They're such sweet birds. I can usually con a honk or two from the geese when I drive up, even after dark, but last night, nothing. I had to go up with Richard to make sure they were alright. We took some lettuce and dried corn and shown our flashlights on the ground so they could see. They're pretty much nightblinded. After a momentary spook when we walked into their home, they relaxed into a nice chomp.

Just back from a week in the stir and bustle of the city where I was surrounded by purposeful people taking purposeful strides toward some thing or some place. It's by turns intimidating and exhilarating, the city, and always takes me a day to get back into the dance step of its pace. And when I do, oh! what a magnificent city it is. Like coming back to an old friend. Walking down its streets in the morning, a cup of hot coffee in my hands, a nice stroll, finding my own rhythm within its lead, I feel this warm intimacy with it, a partnership, as if we're visiting with one another, catching up, wishing each other well.

Now back to the country everything feels a bit small by comparison. The desk I'm sitting at feels as if it shrunk while I was gone, too small for my thoughts and feelings and ideas. The trudge of the second hand of the clock on my desk shelf sounds positively Sysiphean. But I know this is reverse acclimating. Don't be too quick to judge, Daniel. This too shall pass. Oh my gosh, it's light outside! The tree branches have lost all their spook. They're very yoga pose at the moment, having their own version of salute to the sun. Town and country, we've set up a rich balancing act. A marvelous juggle and challenge to take the richness in both and blend it into a new recipe. What an opportunity. A manifest destiny.

And with the rising of the sun there arises new ideas: What new thing can I create today? What new project can I dream into being? What fun and play can I produce? How can I plant a little laughter about? How can I show life how much I appreciate it?

I can hear Richard laughing downstairs in the kitchen. He's streaming "Gosford Park" on his laptop and it sounds as if he's lapping. A fine contented sound. My husband. Nice to begin a day with a smile and a laugh.

And coffee and a warm wood fire aren't so bad either.

Keep warm yourself today and may wonderful new ideas come to LIFE for you as well!

I just loved on Shmuel

I just gave my gander a neck twirl around and pick up, holding his strong white wings close to his side. The girls gave a squawk of protest, but he made nary a peep or bray. I hadn't used this disciplinary measure for awhile, hadn't needed to. But today, I was getting a little bit tired of him taking a good, healthy chomp into my hand when I was offering he and his harum some nice romaine lettuce, something I do most every morning. And he knows better, he can gauge where the lettuce ends and my skin begins. This was calculated today, intentional, premeditated. So I lifted him a few feet off the earth and held him there. Truth be told, it wasn't all disciplinary; I'd been wanting to pick him up and pet him. But he's usually so tough and proud and blustery, with a flutter rush of his tail feathers and a "keep your distance" dip to his long neck, a glare of his Moby Dick eyes warning you back. "Have you seen the great white goose?!" That was one advantage to when he was recovering from his coyote neck bite late summer, I could be as close to him as I wished for he didn't have the strength to put up a fuss. He was vulnerable and tender, his bites were like litte moth nibbles. Oh he was so defenseless and weak. I never thought I'd see his tough side again and, yes, I longed for it back. And now ... oh whatever. So I held him and stroked his neck and thought 'You know, many times when I've done this, he's hit the ground, and turned around and come after me, wings whipping the air for a good punch, beak out for a bite of me. What's going to happen now?' And you know what happened when I let him down? Nothin'. He walked over to the girls who asked if he was alright, if he'd been hurt in any way. "just my pride, just my pride" I think I heard him say. But I loved on him, I pet him, that's all. He didn't know what to do with that. What a great bird he is.

On the other bird front, Richard is moving his 5 turkeys over to a small section of the upstairs level of our neighbor Royce's barn. Not enough room at the chicken inn. Those turkeys are growing much larger, much quicker than ever imagined and though we thought the chickens and turkeys would be able to make it through the winter co-habitating, it ain't working out that way. The turkey tail feathers alone are cococking the chickens whenever the turkeys turn around. And there are mites - Richard dusted all the birds today with a white powder that suffocates the mites and kills them, but one poor turkey has been particularly droopy of late and we've had to quarantine her in her own crate and give her special treatment - some cayenne pepper in her food, a little tetracyline in her water. She's got something and we're hoping we can nip it in the bud. Richard is so good with his birds. He's learning so much all the time, getting great advice from the various bird sites on line. Very helpful.
He loves it, he loves them, and it shows. Great to see.

It's a stunningly beautiful, frigid day here. When it snows, which it's been doing off and on today, you feel as if you're in a snow globe in the middle of a gentle, light, continuous powdered sugar dusting. The fire in the kitchen wood stove hypnotizes you with warmth. So cozy. A perfect January day of puttering around, getting good work done, writing, musing, catching up, making plans ... and hugging geese.