 |
| Point Betsie in winter's grip. |
TRAVERSE CITY, Mich. – How fast it’s gone.
Not the snow … it remains more than thigh deep and will be here until May, say folks.
Indeed, by most measures, even up here, winter’s grip has
never been tighter. Lake Michigan’s two large bays are solid plains of ice;
fish shanties dot the surface like specs on flypaper, all the way to Power
Island. We remain bundled in thick
layers, waddling fatly on the street – winter’s Pillsbury Doughboys. Even the
deer take to hiding, avoiding the impasse of thick snows in the dips and
swales of our front woods.
No, it’s the time.
It seems mere weeks ago that we put snow tires on our two cars – that we
walked amid the burnt oranges and reds of autumn, saw the sun dance along the
sand.
Now, we’re rounding winter, already looking toward spring.
I don’t know whether time’s quickening pace is a product of
my stage in life. I’ve heard others say so … that, like gravity in some
wormhole, time grows ever-more compressed as one is drawn to, well, the grand
finish.
I hope not.
Sure, I’ll welcome spring … bear hugs all around. But I’ll miss winter, too, which
surprises me.
Not the cold, of course. We both complain of single digits and sub-zero wind chills
mainly because it’s not supposed to be like this. The average high temperature this time of year is 31, but
it’s been 15 degrees less than that of late.
Then again, winter wasn’t supposed to be like this anywhere
in the country. So to complain
merely joins a national choir of grumps.
What I will miss is the snow. I won’t attempt poetry here about it. Done that enough.
But I’ll observe some things about the season.
The dogs love it. Nellie, our Great Pyr, full of white
fluff, loves to bury her head deep in it, searching for some object on the
ground below.
 |
| Nellie ... and snout frost. |
When not plunging the depths, she flops on her back at the
top of the driveway, her four legs spread wide like a toppled turtle, shimmying
right, left, then right again, scratching the coldness with her spine.
Linus, meantime, has regained his fur, this after an overly
enthusiastic groomer rendered him a hairless cat in October. Now, fully re-upholstered, his first
act when let free is to dive headfirst into a snow bank, digging rapidly with
his front paws while shaking his head.
He’s long done this in the sand, in our bed pillows and
blankets, and in his dog bed. It’s
reassuring to see him do the same with snow, to arrive at our back door, his face peppered in white ... to know he’s at home here.
The equipment is surviving nicely. I’ll
lump our cars into this category.
We had this silly notion that we’d need to buy military surplus
halftracks to make our way from one end of town to the other
There also was our uphill driveway … “Uh, you might have
problems with that this winter, you know,” warned Howard, our truck
driver/moving guy, last summer.
But we rolled the dice and kept our cars, buying snow tires
instead. Since, we’ve scampered up
and down hills unabated, including our driveway. Even the Beetle scurries about, as long as we wait until the
plows come through.
Other devices also are doing well. Although neighbor Levi moves the heavy stuff with his
tractor, our snow blower has been a handy backup.
My only complaint is our snow shovel. It’s made for slight snows, not the
piles that abound here. And so, as
I lift a shovelful, the joint between handle and shovel blade honks like a
Canada goose as the screws work themselves loose. Its days are numbered.
 |
| Shovel and birdseed cans. |
Oh … it is handy for
flinging poopsicles into the woods. One consequence of two dogs and arctic cold
is that the darn poop never disappears. It freezes in an instant and will remain that way until
spring.
It sounds gross, but it’s like we’re making the devil’s
lasagna – a layer of snow, a layer of poop, a layer of snow, more poop …. I
shudder to think what awaits us beneath come the thaw.
Here’s to hot water. While record snows continue to fall,
and temperatures seem still to drop, we stay warm inside. Kudos to our hot-water heating system. I was raised with it as a child, but
every house we’ve owned since marriage has used forced-air heat. Except this one.
Our boiler room doubles as a laundry room. It’s right off the kitchen. What constitutes the furnace and boiler
is a plumber’s nightmare, although I’m sure Dad would be at home there.
First there’s the squat, blue “Hot Water Maker” that does
what its label claims. But how it
does so seems remarkable. So small
– 4 feet or so – and yet it provides an endless stream for dish-washing,
showers, laundry and more. We’ve
never run out of hot water. Even
when friends visit.
 |
| Mighty Blue. |
Then there’s the furnace … an equally squat guy sprouting so
many pipes, valves and switches that it conjures the control room of Jules
Verne’s Nautilus. Captain Nemo would marvel as it rumbles to life, the hot
water coursing through the house’s veins.
And it all works so well.
Ever since October, the house has wrapped itself in a draft-free,
static-free blanket – far better than the snug bug’s rug.
So tonight the cheery weather guys are predicting temps will
drop to 12 below. That plunge will
cause our outdoor decks to contract, sending occasional loud “bangs” like
hammer blows through the house as the joints and boards shrink.
But inside? The
furnace will fire, the pipes will clank softly, the hot water will move from
station to station. All will be
toasty.
And we’ll close our eyes, hum the Beach Boys’ “Kokomo” and
find ourselves, perhaps, at moonlight in the Keys.
The birds are our friends. Finally, there are the
feathered among us.
That they survive the never-ending snows and plunging
temperatures is Nature’s miracle, of course. They have multiple tactics:
 |
| Birds ... and Nel. |
- Feather
puff-up: I’ve even seen Sky, our house finch, do this trick when
there’s a chill in the air. Like a
feather-down jacket, puffed-up feathers provide thicker insulation.
- The
gang’s all here: Small birds like the bluebird or
chickadee will gather in large numbers and tight spots to share body heat. The experts call it roosting.
- Sunning,
shivering: We all do this … grab sunshine when we can and shiver when
we must. Birds regularly do both to raise their temperature.
- Bring
on the fat: As dainty and light as birds
are, they love fat, especially late in the year as the hardest of winter
arrives. I’m a big suet fan. We have one pileated woodpecker that
especially likes to dine with us. (Nellie likes that suet, too … likes to roam
beneath the suet feeder for greasy cast-offs. Yech.)
Of course, the birds would get along just fine without our
efforts. But it’s a nice view
during the week from my second-floor office perch – to see the many-colored
friends dash to and from the feeders, an ornithologist’s Grand Central Station
atop a blanket of white.
How fast they go, back and forth.
How fast it’s gone, this winter.
