Real Winter

I've been told that the Inuit have 7 words for snow. Icelanders have a word for a volcano that erupts beneath a glacier and causes a flood once the glacier wall gives way (hlaup). I wonder if those cultures have a word for real winter. This winter is the real deal. Granted, we've had many bluebird, days, but we have had lots of snow -- the banks of snow at the end of my driveway are up to my shoulder. We've also had lots of cold: 30 F feels downright balmy.

I'm not complaining. I actually like the extreme weather (not like tornadoes or Cat 5 hurricanes) but cold and snow in the winter, and heat in the summer fascinate me. They change how we interact with our world, how we function and take us out of life's everyday sameness. If you think about it, life between 35 F and 80 F is very pleasant, very easy to deal with. When you start to creep up on the high end or dip below the low end, things start to get tougher, more interesting, a bit less comfortable. Couple temps beyond this range with precipitation, humidity (or lack thereof in winter) and we are forced to adjust, and compensate even more.

Unsettled, harsher weather reminds us that we dwell in a sometimes tough place, and that despite heating and air conditioning we are still subject to nature's vagaries when we leave our cocoons. I'm looking forward to spring (who doesn't?) but I enjoy what is happening now, and permit real winter to remind me where I am, and what I am.

Merry Christmas

Frosty Morning

Fall Sky

Micro-climate

Late yesterday afternoon a cold front passed through the area and brought some rain with it along with some nice cool air. As I walked across the wet parking lot to my car after getting off the train I noticed that my car windows were covered in condensation. After I hopped into the vehicle and started the engine I turned on the wipers to clear away the moisture from the windows. The condensation however was inside the car. The warm humid air that was trapped in the car condensed on the windows as the temperature dropped during the afternoon. This is not a major event nor an earth shattering insight, but rather an interesting little science moment, and another indication that fall is well underway -- as if the beautiful foliage and the fact that inside the house is chillier than outside (another micro-climate) were not enough.

Signs

The tulips and daffodils are sprouting in one of my side beds.

The forsythia and magnolias have really large buds and are ready to burst.

Some mornings I can smell the earth again.

I can smell my composter when I'm near it.

One of the neighborhood crows had a big stick in its mouth for a nest.

The Juncos are less frequent visitors to my feeder.

Red Winged Blackbirds returned to the feeder today.

The sun is actually warm even though the air is not particularly so, right now.

Rhythm Change

Summer is over -- though we'll still be hitting the road frequently this fall for various outings -- but the summer idyll is over. Child One started back to school yesterday and our morning execution was not up to the change. Things were hectic and excited in a way that we've not experienced since last spring. The fall is upon us and our lives have reverted very quickly to the frenetic pace that we normally maintain 9 out of every 12 months of the year.

The Greening

The Northeast is greening up despite the cold and damp that's still hanging over the region -- the tail-end of the weekend's storm.

We suppose it should be getting greener given all of the moisture that lawns, trees and shrubs are receiving, but it's more than simple moisture that is hastening the reemergence. Buds grow larger, green grass blades overtake brown and our tulips and daffodils seem to be growing visibly each day -- the latter ahead of the former in the bloom department.

Some forsythia have finally bloomed, their yellow blossoms much welcomed in the dreary landscape; shrubs that we pass on our morning run sprout small leaves again and many trees in the neighborhood -- not just the early flowering ones -- are budding rapidly, ready to burst. It's a hopeful time of year, despite the dreary weather and desolate news reports. But, as she does each year, Nature sheds her winter garb to reveal her reborn beauty and we welcome the change with open heart.

She's returned not a moment too soon.

Damnable DST

Mark us, along with farmers and others who are up and at 'em on the earlier side of the day, as opponents of Daylight Savings Time.

We run, and winter is always a hard time to maintain the regimen given the cold weather and treacherous footing. The greatest hindrance, however, is the darkness: it's purely psychological, we admit, but it's a huge hurdle. Because we have children at home there is no time to run in the evening and that puts us squarely on a morning routine. The past couple of weeks have been great and relatively bright -- a nice reward for dark January and dim February. Again, with the imposition of DST we run in pre-dawn gloom rather than lovely first light.

Many of our colleagues are giddy about the fact that they get to commute home in daylight . . . we say who cares? Admittedly, it is nice to have light until 9:30 PM; but, after finishing dinner and putting children in bed it's not the most useful time of day for us. Sitting on the porch in the gloaming is nice but we realize no efficiencies from this extra daylight.

We realize that we are in the minority on DST, but in a lifestyle geared to the morning hours, waking up in light rather than gloom is preferable. Perhaps, sometime in the not-too-distant-future time will always be "standard." Until that time however, we'll lay out our running gear now so that it will be easier to find in the dark, tomorrow morning.

The Ice Age Winds Down

Today was a beautiful, sunny, 50 F day. The ice sheet that covers the Quarter Acre is melting rapidly and the yard is being revealed. Spring is definitely on the way. An interesting leftover from the ice sheet's retreat are large number of rocks and pebbles that washed down the hill at the back of the property. They occupy the area at the foot of the hill and the top of the lawn, piled up like glacial scree.

Another interesting leftover is copious amounts of rabbit droppings. It almost seems as if a whole herd of bunnies sits on our lawn eating and pooping all night. On close inspection the grass is fairly well cropped, and the amount of droppings is staggering. There are also some rather dense tufts of rabbit down. Our theory is that this part of the yard gets sun all year 'round and the snow melts in this area -- whereas much of the lawn sits in the house's shadow and sits under ice still. So, the rabbits come and dine on what they can find, and fertilize as they go.

Missed Opportunity

Though well into our mid-thirties we still enjoy the thought of the snow day. The Boston area -- much of the country from the Midwest east, actually -- got whacked over the past few days. We went to bed Tuesday night with dreams of "working from home" dancing in our head, and the work laptop downstairs in the front hall. Alas, the accumulations were neither earth-shattering nor travel-prohibiting, so we waited out the morning rush and headed in.

Such a disappointing turn of events . . .

Then, upon returning to the Quarter Acre we reveled in the distinct pleasure of shoveling frozen snow for nearly two hours. Despite working diligently, we only managed to uncork the end of the driveway, and, sort of, uncover the rest of it. One bonus, however was that the snow wasn't actually frozen all the way to the ground. No, no, the top was frozen solid, and the layer below was slushy, wet and heavy. February is grand.

The Longest Month

We must admit that we are sinking a bit . . . the inexorable power of the shortest, yet longest, month of the year is grinding us down. Despite enjoying the cold, and embracing the variable weather of winter-Boston there is something psychologically brutal about February. Even though the sun is rising earlier and setting later, the month's 28 days seem exceedingly long. Perhaps it is the fact that when we look outside the Quarter Acre is shrouded in a duo-tone palette of brown and gray. The brutally cold weather the past few weeks has sucked the moisture out of everything and left the lawn dessicated. The trees seem more gray, and diminished than just four weeks ago. The Quarter Acre dwellers do not love February though we take heart in the fact that on Sunday (18 February), pitchers and catchers report to Ft. Meyers, FL and the Red Sox kick-off the 2007 Season. Surely spring is close!

Mass Weather

As evidenced in this photo post it's cold today in Massachusetts. It is the first truly cold day of the year and of the winter. Despite weeks of warm, wet, strange weather prior to today, people are crying about this short cold snap. They also complained about the mildness and wetness. They will complain, no doubt, in the summer when some insufferable weather descends upon us in that season.

To live in Boston is to live in a place of highly variable weather. We will not go so far as to say "extreme," but definitely variable. Boston is far enough north that it gets blasted with some very arctic air in the winter -- as it is today. However, it is not so far north that it avoids stretches of oppressive heat and humidity each summer. This makes residents of this region quite hardy, and adaptable, we think.

When the first sub-50 degree day arrived in NYC many residents broke out the down coats and wrapped their faces in scarves. This is not so in Boston. There are many Bostonians, even today, wearing light coats, with faces uncovered, going about their business. We admire this stoicism and take pride in it. We enjoy it when the the weather is this cold. We also like it when it gets very hot in the summer. This is what the seasons are all about, this is why we live here.

On another level, days such as today make us grateful for what we have -- a house, 5/8 of a tank of home heating # 2, and food on the table. We are blessed. We also appreciate the cold because it's a bit jarring to the system, it knocks us out of our complacency and imposes some discomfort on lives that are often too comfortable. Bring on the cold.

The Post-Christmas Hangover

Is there any tougher week of the year to work than the week between Christmas and the New Year? We don't think so. It is not only hard to motivate to do work-related things after the heavy focus on hearth and family, it is hard to find people to do them -- except for a silly few, the author included, offices are empty. Perhaps this emptiness is good -- the trouble with finding people to do things, aside -- because Christmas, as much fun as it can be (and it was a very fun Christmas on the Quarter Acre) is exhausting. The preparation, the parties and the cleanup leave us feeling toasted. It's hard to shake off the hangover that lingers after Christmas and focus on the work-a-day details that make the boisterous and present-strewn-celebrations possible.

So, we return to the grind with eyes-all-a-bagged, mind cloudy (at best) and nothing to look forward to except taking down the decorations, January, February, March and at least half of April.

Seasonal Opening

This past weekend,in addition to rekindling our love affair with the Martini we began the process of decorating the Quarter Acre for Christmas. Greenery was purchased for the outside of the house. Lights were placed in windows, and on Sunday a yard-tree was dressed in lights, a spotlight was placed in the lawn to shine on the front door and the Christmas season officially opened on the Quarter Acre.

Child One helped us with the window lighting which was very fun. The house is really coming to life, and assuming a magical air. This is one of our favorite times of year on the Quarter Acre. A week after putting the yard to rest until the spring, the focus shifts to the house, the home and the interior life of the Quarter Acre. We take comfort, and delight in this transition which is so fitting at this time of year.

Seasonal Closure

Rather than spend the weekend after Thanksgiving battling the masses for silly sale prices on silly things we don't need (at Christmas time or any other time of year for that matter) we spent the weekend around the Quarter Acre shutting down the yard for the season.

We've raked the yard a couple of times this year, mowed the lawn close, applied the winterizer and basically kept things looking sharp. This past weekend was the final push. At the back of the property is a hill that runs the entire the width of the plot. Atop this hill sit several oak trees that produce copious amounts of acorns that litter the lawn and leaves that blanket the hill.

The leaf-blanketed hill is messy-looking, and we spent 6 hours raking it, bagging the leaves and taking the refuse (23 thirty Gallon bags) to the giant leaf pile at the town dump. It was one of the best days yet on the Quarter Acre -- a crisp, beautiful, November, Saturday, outside, engaged in good honest hard work that added a blister to the inside of our thumb, and a new layer of dirt and scuffs to our boots. Additionally, we cut the dead Hostas, Astilbes and other perennials to the ground; raked out beds; mowed the lawn for the last time (mainly to pick up stray leaves); put away the gas grill and the Adirondack chairs and disposed of a completely rotten chimenia.

The yard is neat and trim and looks as spare as the leafless trees that surround it. There is a beauty now to the Quarter Acre that is both of and from the season that increasingly settles upon it. Stripped down, dormant and waiting, the yard is closed for the season, anticipating the Spring and the beginning of next year's ministrations.