scenes from the hinterlands.

 

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Winter made its presence known this Thursday and Friday past, with a foot of light dry snow falling on Pencilfox Acres. It took us two days to move it all. This morning's low was -3F/-19C, and the day was sky-blue lovely yet chilly to the bone. You know it's cold when The Cat sits in his room and naps often. You know it's really cold when he hugs the baseboard heater, which he hasn't done yet. Not yet, anyway. The second bedroom is Milo's room. He has claimed the bed and a Pendleton blanket, and he has old furs as his toys. He no longer enjoys snowshoe'ing in the cold, so to remain active, he tosses and chases the furs. He also has a "fly" tied to a broken bit of flyrod, and we "cast" the fly for him to pounce. 

The Pack and I have been snowshoe'ing. I cannot tell you how much I love snowshoe'ing. The entirety of Coyote Hill is my Church. Peace and quiet abounds. The garden sleeps under a blanket of snow. Frozen highbush cranberries hang on their bushes in a frozen state in the forests. There's no one around, and there's not much traffic noise audible when on the hill. Last week I happened upon a spruce hen, and I stopped to watch it scurry away through the forestfloor detritus, finding safe distance from the dogs sniffing it out. 

I am not sure at this point what Christmas will bring to the house, what the holidays will look like for us. I am full of gratefulness to be alive and on my feet, able to work in the house, able to move large shovelfuls of snow, able to think halfway clearly these days, and able to snowshoe pretty much without having to stop to catch a rest. There's not much more to want, except for healing for Mister Jones in his post-SARS-CoV-2 state of health. 

All in all, it's a good life. 

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