This was our thermometer a few days ago. Negative 7. And that wasn't even the lowest.
The thermometer is creeping up today as a front comes through and brings us another half a foot of snow by morning.
21 feels positively balmy after the arctic front of the last week.
The weeks since Christmas have gone by in a blur of surreal white:
Snow, now so cold it squeaks and cracks and protests when you walk on it;
Driving amplifies the sound to the point that it is like a tree trunk is trying to hitch a ride to the bottom of the car;
Trees creaking ominously, muffled and weighted with snow and ice;
Ice daggers three feet long hanging from the eaves, growing longer each day as the escaping heat from the house just barely melts the snow for just the barest moment in time before the icy air captures it again;
Journeys to get milk and eggs and toilet paper suddenly feel unreal as the drive takes you down snow covered roads by frozen lakes and frozen streams and waterfalls caught in motion, trapped by ice - making a sculpture that changes everyday.
Functioning in the snow is fine, {well except the time I slipped on the barn ramp and gave myself a mild concussion - that'll larn' me to wear the right boots}, functioning in the artic cold is doable. Functioning in the cold and snow is fine -- no biggie. But . . .
but . . . the reality is everything seems to slow down. There is no rush. Everything can wait. Rush and you'll land splayed out on the snow with coffee all over your jacket and your freshly gathered eggs launched into the snowbank. The outside world seems to recede and fade away when it is this cold. Newspapers and facebook and twitter and the radio all seem like they can just wait another day. And another. And another. Then all of the sudden you realize 4 weeks have gone by, while you've been watching the snow. Focusing.
Focusing on:
Gathering the eggs twice a day so they don't freeze in the nesting boxes;
Checking the water, make sure all the animals water defrosters and heat lights are working;
Stoking the wood stove regularly;
Watching the thermometer go down, down down;
Bundling up to head out to try out different sleds and ski and just marvel;
Breathing and not freaking out as the snow continues to fall - one foot, two feet- fighting feelings of incipient claustrophobia as the snow accumulates and flies and fills the morning sky with grey, reducing your world to the steps in front of you as you retrace your footsteps which are already beginning to fill back in;
Retreating back inside to safety, warmth, hot chocolate and homemade marshmallows. And coffee. Lots of coffee.
Catching up on movies because you finally accepted that DVD's through the mail may be old-school but it works.
{The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel-- Watch it! So good.}
