I think this will wrap up my winter reflections about growing up in the 50s rural Arkansas. Regardless to what you may have perceived as my negative views about winter, I don't want to leave the impression that everything was on the down side. I certainly didn't stay cooped up in the house all winter. The truth is, I did enjoy some of winter...and some, I didn't enjoy, but overall, every season, including winter, is okay with me. For one, there's the beauty of change that each season brings and the "in-between times" can be gorgeous. I love to see Autumn turn into winter, and winter turn into a warm, beautiful, colorful spring, and then have springtime prepare us for the long, hot, hazy days of summer. Now, back to winter. The thrill of the first snow fall brought all of us out of the house. We'd trek through the woods, engage in snowball fights, play games such as making tracks (in the snow) where anyone following the leader was suppose to step only in his/her tracks, thus appearing that only one person had traveled that route. Then, if there was ice on the porch, we'd skate, which incidentally, resulted in my first serious fall (one that came back to haunt me in later years as the "ghost" of lower back pain), but still, at that time, it was a fun fall, and the memory of that long glide across that solid ice porch lingers lovingly in my memory. Thankfully, the back pain has been long gone. We didn't own a camera back then, so I've stored mental images in my mind of winter scenes such as icicles hanging from the tin-top roof. To my childhood mind, it was always a mystery how they formed so long and twisted and crystal clear. Come to think of it, I don't remember that we ever snagged one. They were too high on the porch top to reach without someone holding us up to get one. And to my recollection, no one ever held us up, so I don't suppose we grabbed any. Now, whenever I reflect on winter, I see snow-covered landscapes and pine needles overlaid with ice, their thin, spindle-like "fingers" drooping toward the ground. For a day or two, or sometime three, our world was white with beauty that would soon melt away with the first puff of a warmer, southern wind. Spring would finally gently push winter away.

 

As I headed to the mailbox this morning, the crisp air of January met me afresh. The snow covering the once-green grass barely crunched below my feet, and I found myself walking on top of it rather than sinking in

My mind wandered back some thirty years. Arlington cemetery. Bloomington, Indiana. Grandma and me.

I took her to put flowers on my grandfather’s grave. Solemnly we exited the car and moved toward the grave on a brisk winter morning. She and I walked atop a frosted-over snow, slowly making our way to the grave. Bare, iced branches of the few trees standing amidst the many marble markers glistened in the midmorning sunlight.

We quietly ambled on. Then Grandma, attempting a smile, looked at me said, “I’ve never walked on top of snow before.”

I gripped her elbow as we approached the grave that had for the several months held the body of my grandpa, her husband of more than sixty years.

Sacredly placing the flowers gently into the urn beside the marble monument, she stepped away, reading the dates carved in the cold stone. Her name etched beside his with only a birth date and a hyphen loomed over both of us, an omen of days to come.

“I guess I’ll be there beside him someday,” she said. Tears trickled down both our cheeks as we stood in silence, staring at the stone that foretold life’s brevity.

Regaining composure, I said, “Well, we won’t think about that now, Grandma.” Empty, useless words to an 81-year-old who had heard death’s knock amongst friends and family one too many times.  

She might have stood there all day had it not been winter. My hand grasping her elbow, I urged her back to the car. “Come on, Grandma, it’s cold,” I said. “Let’s go home.”

Coldness comes and goes over time. Seasons change and life as we’ve known it no longer exists. We can never go back. People enter our lives for a season and then we must walk alone, seeking to understand life’s rhythm.

After lifting the little red flag on the mailbox, I turned back toward the house. The blacktop drive was bare and clean, providing a much safer path…but I preferred to move on top of the snow, step by step, pretending that Grandma was walking beside me once again as my hand gently urged her home.

Living in the countryside can be fun..with one of the most fun parts being staying indoors (during winter) beside a glowing, hot stove..a sack of pecans in your lap with a most enjoyable children's book (I'm speaking of my 50s childhood) just waiting to be read. But finally push comes to shove, and you had to venture outside. There were things that had to be done that couldn't possibly be done from the comfort of a warm room. While we had to walk some, we did have a car. Fortunately, some drivers had snow-chains (for their tires) just in case the ground froze, which occasionally it did. I don't remember Dad ever owning snow-chains, but since it's been so long ago, he just may have. At any rate, I do remember a few slippery-sliding episodes on those wet, country roads. At the time, the "near landing in the ditch" wasn't funny at all, but afterward when the "scare" wore off, I could laugh about it. Winter was by no means my favorite season of the year. I hated those long, cold, wet, and sometimes cloudy days. Perhaps because I was born in June, cold weather was never a close friend of mine. Instead of the three calendar months of winter, this unwelcome visitor seemed to hang around for more than six long months. On the positive side, though, there were a few things I really liked about this "frenemy" season. One was its breath-taking snow-falls. When snow covers everything over, its white, fleece-like cape just makes the world so breath-takingly beautiful. I'd stare out the window, gazing affectionately at the beautifully snow-covered landscape with it sloping vale and the winter sun shining on its glistening, white coat. When the sun shone at a certain angle, the vast fields looked like the ski slopes in Vail, Colorado. From the comfort of my living room, my heart was warmed with winter's gift of freshly-fallen snow. Then, my other favorite thing about winter was sitting by the warm stove while eating a bowl of ice cream made exclusively from winter's first, pristine snowfall. Now, that to me, was real winter living.

Whatever I write about Arkansas winters comes from my childhood as I am no longer a resident of that fair state. However, I do remember, vividly, those long, cold, Arctic-like winters that seemed never to end. They were not typical New England winters, but anything below 80 degrees was cold to me. This season was usually gracious to us until at least after Thanksgiving. Christmas was usually cold but not cold enough for snow. Once, it snowed the day after Christmas, so I never remembered having a White Christmas. So now, that we're into January, I'll see what I can recall from that introduction month of our year. We could almost always expect snow...enough to make our favorite winter dessert "snow ice cream." I may tell you about that later. Anyway, by January, we had to have collected all our winter gear: hats; head scarves; caps, ear muffs (perhaps); high-top shoes; socks; long-johns (if we could afford them); and gloves...No, I don't remember wearing those. Thank God for deep pockets though. They did come in handy. And of course, I searched in the back of the Chifferobe for the heaviest winter coat I could find - be it Mama's, Dada's, Grandma's or one of my younger siblings. All I wanted was some kind of wrap to ward off the southern "hawk." If we had to work, then it was too cold to go outside. but if we wanted to frolick in the snow, then the weather seemed to warm up. Isn't that strange? Work made the outdoors cold. Play made it tolerable. When we had to go to school, then it was cold again. If we wanted to go out and get snow for ice cream, then the weather seemed just fine. If we had to run an errand, it was definitely too cold, but if we wanted to fight each other with snowballs, then, we just put on extra layers of clothing, went outside and had a "ball." Then, again, to go out and cut fire wood., it was cold again. Now, when it's winter in my adopted state, California, all I have to remind me of that dreaded season are the thoughts I cherish of the beauty snow brings and the memory of the first daffodil sticking its head up through the cold, spring ground. Even if it was still cold, the blooming of any flower announced that winter was slowly and surely creeping itself away. I could finally lift my head toward the clear, blue sky and blow my dear old "frenemy" a farewell kiss. "Good bye Old Man Winter," I'd say..."Hello and welcome bright, warm spring time."

Snow fell on Christmas Eve giving us a white Christmas.
White Christmas is not common here but always possible. Some drive to the
mountains to enjoy the snow when it doesn’t fall on the plains. A running joke
is that celebrating Christmas on Halloween ensures a white “Christmas” as it
seems to snow more often on Halloween than on Christmas.

 This years’ snow fall was only an inch or two but continuing
cold weather kept it on the ground for days. It is always interesting to me to
see what wildlife is about after a snowfall. Deeper snowfalls may keep animals
in for a day or even two but soon they are out foraging for food.

Bare patches in the snow with lots of rabbit, deer or other
animal tracks show that where they have dug down to eat. Larger animals such as
deer may eat tree bark while heavy snow cover is on. If you see a cluster of
their tracks in your orchard, check the trees.

Of course animals are about all during the year but their
trails and eating habits are often nearly invisible to us without snow cover.
On the dry lands, antelope may follow a trail that is all but invisible but
that is consistent. By walking their range after a snow, you can easily see
their trails.

Occasionally animals seem to play in the snow much as humans
do but their tracks usually show the daily activities. Clusters of tracks point
to grazing or eating. Deep widely spaced tracks usually indicate running either
after food or to escape being caught. More leisurely deposited tracks will show
the trails to and from water, food or cover. Look carefully and you may also
find spots where animals have bedded down in the snow.  Deeper holes made by rabbits can sometimes be
found in deeper snow banks.  Amazingly
the rabbits appear to use these for days during heavy snow. During warmer hours
they may sit on the snow bank enjoying the sun ready to pop in if a predator
appears or the temperature drops.

I found a lovely bird print in the snow that didn’t really
tell a clear story. The size of the bird does not seem to indicate a bird of
prey. Perhaps it the bird simply flew down from the overhanging tree and spread
its wings to make the landing.

Today the Christmas snowfall is well tracked up in the lawn
area and ample rabbit droppings are deposited. The story is less interesting
than after the first fall. Subsequent snowfalls on old snow may make tracking
more challenging. Frequently the snow will crust during sunny days. If it
crusts with many tracks making it rough, new snow and new tracks will be more
difficult to trace. Likewise granular snow and very dry drifted snow may
capture many tracks.

The snow tales are obscured now and sadly the moisture
content was not a big help to plant life or animals. Perhaps we can hope for
another snow with or without a holiday.

 As I sit at my computer on this cold winter's day, I seem to be making quite a few observations.  I thought I would share them with you! 

• We had a very merry Christmas here at Green Eggs & Goats!  We dodged a bullet last night by not being hit with the worst of the storms, and for that we are truly blessed!  We were even rewarded with a little snow this morning (a rare event indeed in Alabama!)

• Apparently, although, my goats run for the barn at the first raindrop, standing in the snow doesn't bother them!  We never got any snow last year for me to observe that!

• My ducks aren't as crazy as I thought!  Generally, although they have plenty of places to seek shelter, they prefer just to paddle around the pond at night, or at least any time we try to herd them toward the barn.  They also lay their eggs wherever they darn please.  Well, last night we had particularly stormy, nasty weather, and this morning, lo and behold, there were 2 ducks eggs in the nest boxes in the barn, exactly where they belong!  Score!  We'll see how long that lasts.

  

Have you ever heard the old quip, "pure as the wind driven snow?"  Well, it doesn't hold true in these parts!  When the wind blows and the snow falls here we end up with snow that's full of pine needles, leaves, lichen and sometimes soot. 

We don't know everything about melting snow for water but since most of our water in the winter time comes from melted snow we’ve learned a few things to make the job easier and more efficient. 

First, it takes a lot of snow to make a gallon of water.  It would be nice if there was a formula involved like "four quarts of snow equals one quart of water" but it isn't that simple.  Any avid skier can tell you that there are different kinds of snow.  Warm, heavy, wet snow and corn snow have a higher moisture content than cold, dry, fluffy snow.  In addition cold snow doesn't pack as tightly as warm snow.  Old snow also has more moisture by volume than new snow because it's had time to compress and may have gone through some thaw cycles which make it denser.  What this means is that if you need one quart of water the amount of snow you'll have to melt may vary greatly depending upon the time of year, the location, the age of the snow and the temperature. 

One way to estimate the moisture content of the snow you're melting is by weight.  Say you're using a one gallon container.  One gallon (US measure) of water weighs approximately 8.3 pounds.  If the snow in your one gallon container weighs four pounds then the water content of the snow is almost 50 percent which means it will take two gallons of snow to make one gallon of water.  The water content of most snow is way, way, way below that but you get the idea of how to get a quick estimate of the amount of snow you're going to have to melt to meet your needs.

Second, whether melting snow at home or while camping in the woods use the largest container you have!   I love my canteen cups but in winter, even when backpacking, try to include a large, lightweight pot for melting snow.  It makes the job go much faster.

Third, whatever container or utensil you're going to use for scooping up the snow should be cold and dry.  If it's not then the snow will stick to the sides and bottom when you dump it into your melting pot.  It's not a big deal but it's more hassle.  Along the same line of thought, if your water is boiling and putting out steam when you dump in new snow, the steam will coat your "dumping utensil" and the next batch of snow will stick to it.  Again, it isn't a big deal, just annoying. 

  

Fourth, keep some water in the melting pot.  For your initial use you may have to begin with just snow.  If so, use low heat until you have at least an inch of water in the bottom of the pan.  I've heard that you can scorch snow but I've never seen it happen.  You can, however, seriously burn your pan if the heat's too high.  The actual moisture content of snow is low so the base layer contacting
the heated pan bottom may melt and turn immediately to steam.  The steam is quickly absorbed by the snow above it and you have a "cave" of sorts in the bottom of the pan.  This is dead air space and air is not as efficient at conducting heat as water. The result is a pan bottom that may become red hot in places while there is still unmelted snow only an inch or so above.  When we empty the water from the kettle we leave at least a couple of inches of water for the next load.

Another benefit is that you'll be able to get more snow in the pan each time you "reload" it.  The new snow is melted by the hot water until it cools the water off.  Even then the cold water will saturate and melt the new snow so you can get a larger volume of snow in the pan.  Eventually the snow you add will no longer melt until you add more heat.  The thing to remember is that water is a better conductor of heat than air.  Snow has a lot of air space which makes it a good insulator which means it’s slow to absorb the heat.  The less air space, the faster it will heat up.       

  

Fifth, purify and strain the water.  Remember what I said about pine needles, leaves, lichen and soot at the beginning?  When the wind blows here the snow is full of debris.  Depending upon what kind of debris we're talking about, it may not hurt to have a little in the snow.  You can make a healthy tea with some kinds of pine needles and lichen!  Decaying leaves and soot are another story!  As the snow melts, strain any undesirable elements out with a dipper.  Do it before the temperature increases or you'll be drinking tea instead of water.  It's not so much a matter of purity as it is taste.  If you bring your water to a rolling boil as we do, anything in it will be “purified.”  But it will also have imparted some of itself in the form of taste and discoloration.   After our water has boiled we pour it into a barrel using a coffee filter to strain out the undesirable elements.  You can use any other filter of your choice for this.  We use coffee filters because we have a bunch of them.  The filters will become clogged so replace them when the water no longer flows through. 

  

Remember, filtering does not purify the water.  It only strains out the debris.  You must either heat the water or use a
chemical means to purify it.   

At this point we'll use it for drinking or washing as the need arises.  If we're drinking it we may filter it further.  If we're melting
water for livestock we won't filter it or bring it to a boil. 

A caution on drinking melted snow.  There's a lot of discussion about the purity of snow.  It's possible that it may have picked up
impurities from the air as it falls to the ground or pollutants such as jet fuel may be mixed in with it.  You'll have to decide for yourself if this is a problem.  In my opinion (which is only valid for me!) rain and surface water have the same risks.  Even wells can be contaminated by underground pollutants.  If it's not an emergency and you have reason to believe the snow is polluted then my advice is to not drink it.  But that decision is one you'll have to make!

 

Chicken owners that live in cold climates often have to make some decisions when it comes to colder fall and winter weather.  One such dilemma is whether or not to heat your coop.  We live on Cape Cod, where we have windy winters and temperatures that occasionally dip below zero. The Cape is a man-made island surrounded entirely by the ocean. The ocean greatly affects our weather and causes us to experience small temperature fluctuations between day and night.  Snow fall varies from year to year.  Some years we have very light snowfall and others deliver a wallop of 2 feet or more.

One decision that people need to make just as important as personalities and egg color is weather hardiness.  I will never forget hearing that Martha Stewart one year wanted to add "exotic" chickens to her Connecticut flock.  She soon realized that they were not cold hardy.  They perished early their first winter.  All of our eight chickens are cold hardy, including the Silkies.  Choosing the right type of chicken for your environment is a very important factor not to be overlooked.

Chickens are birds and not mammals.  Their bodies, circulatory system, respiratory system, reproductive systems are different.  Therefore, we cannot assume that they interpret, adapt or react the same way as our mammal bodies do in the cold.

We do not heat our chicken coop.  Knowing that we do experience occasional power outages, we did not want our flock to become accustomed to an artificially warmed coop.  Tales of flocks perishing from lack of a heated coop after an extended power outage was just something that we did not want to encounter.

Here are some tips for you to consider to help keep your coop warm without an additional heat source:

1. Consider the size of your coop.  Smaller coops heat up more quickly from the heat produced by the chickens than larger ones.  Coop size and flock size should match.

2.  Insulate around your coop with bales of straw.

3.  Keep your flock away from drafts, yet allow for adequate ventilation.

4.  Provide a thicker layer of pine shavings in colder weather than you do in the summer.  Introducing, straw on the floor of the coop can also be a welcomed addition.

5.  Provide your flock with warm treats and warm water throughout the day.

6.  Feed your flock scratch 1 hour before they retire for the night.  Chickens' metabolism is higher in the winter as they burn more fuel keeping warm.  A full tummy of scratch helps them to generate heat and an egg if they desire.

7.  Ensure that your chickens' roosts are wide enough and their feet are completely covered by their bodies when perched.

8.  Allow for winter's sunshine to warm the coop by clearing away unnecessary trees and shrubbery.

9.  Repair areas of the coop that are vulnerable to water leaks.

10.  During the coldest evenings, apply Vaseline to the flock's combs and wattles to prevent frostbite.

The Northeast can experience huge storms called Nor'easters, with strong winds and lots of snow.  Storms like this can cause extended power outages for long periods of time.  In the winter of 2010, such a storm blew across Cape Cod. Not only were many affected by the loss of power, but many folks lost their entire flocks from their inability to acclimate to cold.  They were accustomed to a warm, cozy, heated coop.

 He that would live in peace and at ease must not speak all he knows or all he sees. – Ben Franklin 

Broadway, Virginia; February 7; 38 degrees; 8:40 pm

Sitting in my favorite coffee shop eating a 3-inch carrot-cake cookie, topped with about half an inch of sour cream frosting. Not a bad way to spend a Tuesday evening. The grocery store was packed a while ago. The weatherman’s calling for a little bit of winter weather in the morning. Good thing I didn’t need milk or bread; selections were pretty limited. Stockpiling for potential bad weather seems to be almost an instinct. I doubt that too many of us are truly susceptible to being snowbound, though. Those who do live on back roads usually come pre-packaged with hefty SUVs or 4-wheel-drive mountain trucks. So what is the psychology behind laying bare the grocery shelves when the forecast hints of snow?

My exciting news of the day came in the form of a couple of quarter-inch, two-leaved spinach plants peppering the top soil on my first raised bed. I had a little tête à tête with a bright-eyed bunny hovering on the edge of the brush pile. We talked a little bit about briar patches, the upcoming winter, and about the 120-pound Golden Retriever who lives in my house. We also discussed settling rights and the fact that I owned the garden patch (as much as any of us ever own land).  He seemed to understand that I didn’t mind sharing the spinach and arugula as long as I didn’t really know I was sharing. I cautioned him to be subtle in his movements and shrewd in his dealings with my garden. We parted on good terms, I think.

The full moon is magnificent tonight. The Other Almanac says February’s full moon is called the Full Snow Moon. Traditionally, we tend to have more snow this month than any other. So far, we haven’t seen much of a winter. Maybe things will change.  I’ve also heard that the moon this month has been called the Full Hunger Moon. Animals and humans alike often have difficulty finding food on the harsh and frozen ground. I guess the bunny was just planning ahead.

I suppose real farmers are beginning to feel the tug of the outdoors and sense the lure of spring planting. As a theoretical farmer, I’m also conscious of this seasonal turning point. I just don’t feel the weight of the labor that is about to begin. I will till my little patch, grow my bowls full of vegetables and try to keep the rodents at bay. I’m quite content to supplement my meager harvest with bushels of produce from the Farmers' Market. We theoretical farmers always have a backup system.

If you wou’d have Guests merry with your cheer, Be so your self, or so at least appear. – Ben Franklin  (Poor Richard’s Almanack)  

Broadway, Virginia; 29 degrees; 7:30 pm

The combination of light snow and a nearly full moon set the Schoolhouse on edge yesterday. (To clarify my connection with the Schoolhouse, allow me to insert the fact that since theoretical farming tends to pay in theoretical dollars, I am obliged to find supplemental income in the form of true, hard cash. In order to earn the money to nurture my theories, I spend roughly 180 days pontificating on the joys of the English Language to a captive audience with a median age of 12.)  But back to the subject at hand … normally sedate young teens were teetering on the edges of their seats, trying hard to conjugate verbs while surreptitiously ripping notebook paper into tiny shreds for part of an ancient snow dance ritual. Moon phases and barometric pressure definitely have their effects on mood and personality.

  
The "last rose of summer" pushing through the dusting of snow. 

And speaking of moods, Edna is rather distracted today as well. In fact, she’s in such a kerfuffle she refused a second helping of Santa Fe Tiramisu and had only one cup of Earl Grey this morning. Poor woman just found out that cousin Effie from Culpeper is planning to visit next week. Now cousin Effie is a trial to contend with on her own, (not to mention her miniature poodle, Sir Winston), but blue-haired snobbishness and gourmet kibbles are not what is bothering Edna. Nah, what has Edna’s bloomers in a bunch is that fact that when Effie visits, she demands the south-facing bedroom; the one Edna uses to house her seedlings until late spring.  With the southern room occupied, the only place she has left to raise her fledgling plants is the little study on the north end of the house — a dank, dark, chilly place not at all conducive to photosynthesis. But anyone who has ever had the dubious honor of meeting the redoubtable Miss Effie knows that she is not one to contend with. I would offer Edna some window space at my place, but I really don’t have any room to spare… Oh well, I’m sure she’ll figure something out.  If not, maybe I’ll have a chance at the prize-winning tomato at the county fair this year.

Well, the great Kansas blizzard of 2011 appears to be over. Some folks say that the Kansas blizzard of 2011 was of a magnitude not seen for years. I'll admit that it was the first real blizzard that I've experienced in Kansas, but it wasn't the worst I've experienced in either North Dakota or South Dakota. Still, when the temperatures are in the low teens and the wind is driving the snow sideways at about 25 miles per hour, you definitely have a blizzard on your hands, and it is hard on people, machines, animals and plants. Yet, blizzards are characteristic of the plains states so the plants, animals and people that live there have sufficient adaptation to plow through in most cases.

  

Courtesy Karen Keb 

Down in my part of Osage County, Kansas the snow amounts were no where near as dramatic as they were further east and into Missouri. The accumulation at our relatively sheltered farmstead ranged from 4-foot drifts in the lee of the wind to an inch or less in smooth open areas. In the yard and animal pens we received a fairly uniform 10 inches of accumulation -- enough to require shoveling out of feeders and gates and plowing paths. Truth be told, I enjoy snow and the work that it takes to keep the farm going in spite of it.

Last night when I got home from work, I set to on some of my favorite chores -- the encore performance this morning was met with subzero temperatures, calm air and a gorgeous sunrise.

 

Courtesy Karen Keb 

When I pulled our trusty Kubota out of the shed, the hay spears were still on the loader arms so I swapped them for the utility bucket instead of the snow bucket (visible in the background) because I need to unload bagged feed from the truck. The box blade is useful for pulling snow away from buildings and for pushing it off the lane.

 

Courtesy Karen Keb 

Molly, our 7-month old Border Terrier loves to romp with us while we are out doing chores. She has seen snow just twice before yesterday, and she doesn't let it hold her back. Molly also has a wonderful knack for staying out of the way of equipment such as the tractor, but she loves racing up and down the plowed corridors and then leaping over the snow piles and into the soft powder.

 

It cleared up sooner than expected last night so the temperatures dropped further than expected. Chores were completed and the snow was plowed once again when I paused to take in this icy sunrise. How can you hate winter when you get to experience something so glorious?

 

Our little 104 year old farmhouse survived the blizzard in style. The new mudroom addition stayed snug, warm and dry. It was nice to be able to shed my ice-encrusted coveralls in a proper mudroom and pop them into the drier so they'd be comfortable when I next needed them.

 

Last night on the way home from work I had a little trouble getting the big Dodge through a couple of drifts. I heard the maintainer scrape past this morning about 4:45. Thanks Mr. maintainer driver for making my trek to US 75 this morning an easy one.

They say it will be even colder tonight, although the winds are scheduled to be calm. I hope it stays calm for the sake of the plants, people, animals and machinery.

 

We welcomed a new baby to the farm yesterday morning, a cute little dun Dexter bull calf. It might have been a chilly 22 degrees when I saw him for the first time in the pasture, but he didn't let the chilly winter weather slow him down any. He was up and movin' with his mother, and looked to be a very good eater!

 

Due to his chilly morning birthday we've named him Pixie's Popsicle (after his mother, Pixie), and look forward to watching him grow. He makes calf #5 on the farm right now. What a fun time for babies!

Read more about my morning, and see more photos HERE.

Thanks for checking in on the farm and me!

As always, you are invited to read more about our life on the farm.

The house is still quiet, only the gentle crackling of the fire in the fireplace, revived from the embers of the blaze we enjoyed late into the evening as we watched Christmas movies together, and Dolly’s gentle snoring disturb the silence.  I gaze out the window at the equally still morning outside.

Small white flakes are falling gentle as goose down, swirling in the occasional soft gust.   The tops of things and roofs are just frosted with the accumulated snow flakes, not the ground, not yet.  A small thrill of excitement rises in my chest; we have not had a white Christmas since 1981, but it looks very promising this year.

We have in fact had 3 snowfalls this year, one of them pretty heavy – heavy for us; quite minor by the standards of some others – which is unusual.  We don’t normally get snowfall until mid January or February.  So the odds of enjoying a white Christmas any year where we are are slim.

To find snow on Christmas day, we must pile into our truck and head up into the higher mountains.  Chestnut and Round Mountains rarely disappoint.  But to get up and find snow falling outside our window on Christmas morning is a rare treat indeed.

 

Our mountain; Piney Mountain, does not have the elevation to reach up into the usual slow lines.  You see elevation makes a marked difference in whether precipitation falls as rain or now.  During out last snowfall I took this photo which shows how suddenly this change can come about.  An extra 100 feet on this mountain slope changes the topography from wet with rain to snow-covered.  It is really quite amazing, and is just one of the reasons we love living here so much.

The single flakes have begun to pair up and twirl like dancers in the air, then the pairs begin to combine as the dancers become more numerous and clusters of flake whirl and twirl; a barn dance in the air.

The snow begins to stick to the grass now… yessir, we are going to have ourselves a white Christmas for sure.

I hear stirrings of wakefulness in the other rooms now.  I lay another log on the fire and head into the kitchen to start breakfast.  It is indeed a very Merry Christmas in our home!

The next day I discovered just how easily I am amused!

Our white Christmas turned into a VERY white Christmas.  This morning I measured  5½ inches of snow laying on top of our porch sides.  That makes it the largest snow fall we can remember… and it’s still snowing!

Yes, I know… this is nothing at all to those of you with 12” or more on the ground already.  But if you think THAT is lame… read on! 

 

The trees are loaded down too, making a gorgeous winter wonderland of our yard, or at least it was until a bit of a wind kicked up. Then I experienced one of the most entertaining things I’ve seen in a while.

I’m sitting on the sofa, enjoying a blaze in the fireplace, sipping a mug of hot chocolate, watching out the window when a gust would wiggle the upper branches of a tree, dislodging some snow.  This would fall down onto branches below, dislodging more snow, which fell and dislodged even more, suddenly this tree would go into a “white out” condition with the snow flying all around and I could hear a “fwoop-woomp-woomp” sound as the whole batch smashed into the snow on the ground. Treevalance!!

It was wonderful!  Ah the joys of simple living!  Or maybe I should say life as a simpleton!  Laugh if you want, but I’m having a great time!

I hope your family had a great Christmas too!

I got my wish. We had a white Christmas down at the Osage County, Kansas farm. The ice pellets that I drove home in on Christmas Eve turned into snow by supper time. The wind howled, first from the north and then from the west. The cedars to the north and west of the house protected us from the bitter brunt and contributed to the substantial drifts that greeted me on Christmas morning. It was a glorious morning – still blowing and still snowing.

In spite of the wind and cold, it was a lovely white Christmas morning and I thought it fitting to celebrate by giving the animals an extra ration of feed and tossing an extra 1500-pound round bale of hay to the hogs – how they love to tear those bales apart, eating and sleeping the day away. I also figured the white Christmas chores would be a lot easier to complete if I didn’t need to trudge through knee-deep drifts, and the footing would be firmer if I bladed and shoveled out the gates. So I decided to trade the loader-equipped Kubota tractor’s utility bucket for the purpose-built snow-bucket. I’d need the tractor later to move big round bales of hay – so there wouldn’t be any harm in pushing a little snow first, right?

Wrong!

Perplexed as I was that quick-attaching the snow bucket to the tractor’s loader didn’t go too quick, I was preparing to make the first lane-clearing pass when I noticed that the tractor’s right front tire was not only flat, but it was only partially on the rim.

Yikes!

No wonder the loader-arms were uneven as I presented them to the snow bucket – neatly stored in a level place.

Suddenly, firing up the Kubota for some white-Christmas morning seat time didn’t look like that great of an idea.

I knew what to do – but I didn’t really want to have to do it.

Using the loader as a jack, I raised the tractor’s front axle and removed the offending wheel and horsed it back to the shop. The tire went onto the rim with only a mild sweat, in spite of the fact that it was stiff from the cold. The tire’s beads swelled out to the rim sufficiently that it sealed, once I wrapped and tightened two binder straps around the tire’s edges and pounded on the tread with a mallet. A few minutes with the compressor pumping high-pressure air into the works and soon enough, the wheel and tire were ready to go back on the tractor. The entire process went so well that it was a little like magic.

With only a half hour interruption, the day developed into a white Christmas celebration that exceeded any of my expectations. The animals seemed pleased, my loved ones seemed pleased and I was pleased.

It was the first snowfall of the season and though it was brisk, I felt confident because it started so early in the day, 7 a.m., that road crews would be out shortly, plowing streets and clearing the freeways with that magical calcium chloride concoction that de-ices everything and leaves a sticky sludge all over your vehicle.

Big Red needed tires and electrical work and the critters needed hay, so we undertook the 50 mile drive to Flagstaff at about 11 a.m. The freeway was so slippery that when we got to Williams, I decided it was time to lock the hubs. We had already passed several cars that had spun off the road. Still sure of ADOT’s road clearing prowess, I was determined to push on rather than turn back. After nearly an hour of 35 mph and 4 wheel drive, we arrived in Flagstaff. I expected the city streets to be bad and they were. Repairs involved several trips back and forth across the icy streets of town and by the time phase 1 was done it was nightfall and Interstate 40 was closed. We were in Flagstaff for the night.

A friend was kind enough to feed us and put us up in a heated room with a warm, comfy bed. The morning found Big Red buried in 4 feet of snow drifts. The snow was only about 1 foot deep in the driveway, so after some sweeping, scraping and shovelling, she plowed right through onto the icy streets. The snow, wet and sticky and great for snowmen the day before, was now dry and powdery and superb for the many schushers out on cross country skis. There’s something about a mountain town the morning after a good snow that rivals anything else in the world. The deep silence, the pure, white, clean blanket transforming world into wonderland. The allure of going to work or market on skis – or staying home in your jammies in front of a roaring fire “snowed in.” It is novel if you’re prepared for it. I was not, which was why I was in Flagstaff getting truck repairs, chain saw parts and woodstove parts. Tuesday evening saw us repaired, supplied and heading back home down a re-opened freeway. Much of the way was clear, though we still traveled way below the speed limit, with a few sections of 35 mph and 4 wheel drive. Big Red got through it all. Including the 2 foot berm in front of my driveway and the foot of snow in the drive.

With over 300K miles on the odometer, the topic of getting a new truck frequently comes up. Especially with every major expense. Considering the hay and firewood hauling, not to mention plowing through the occasional heavy snow and icy freeway, the cost to replace her is far greater than the cost of repair, so the repair option always wins out. I am comfortable in Big Red. As that overplayed commercial would say: “Peace of mind – priceless.”

Earlier yesterday, we were hemmed in by a cold, dense fog. Later in the day weather conditions morphed into a storm of little ice pellets that bounced off the frozen grass like popcorn, clicking like tiny fingernails on my window glass. Fearless Editor Hank stopped by my office, and I pointed excitedly out the window.

“I know what that is!”

“What? The sleet?” he asked, peering out into the yuck outside.

“No! It’s grapple … no, wait … not that … it’s … it’s GRAUPEL!”

See? There is an exactly right word for absolutely everything. Graupel isn’t just your garden-variety sleet. It’s that fluffy, pellet-y stuff that forms when freezing fog condenses on a snowflake. The distinction between sleet and graupel, I think, is that graupel is fluffy-looking and sleet is icy. Graupel looks like a hybrid between snow and a ball-bearing.

Call me a wonk; I love these minute distinctions that make one thing not another. One of the ways I know I’m in exactly the right career is the glee I feel when I’ve discovered the precisely right word for something.

I also love that other people care enough about the physical world to create these bodies of distinctions. Somebody was really paying attention when they noticed not only that snowflakes were very different from each other, but that they fit in particular categories.

As I cruised the Internet yesterday, searching for more information on graupel (a surprising body of information can be found, as it turns out), I stumbled upon this post on Ðrawn Association describing the work of Wilson Allen Bentley, a 19-year-old farmer living in Vermont in 1885, who has now become sort of the Patron Saint of Snowflakes. Fascinated by snow crystals, this teenager was the first person to successfully produce a photo of snow or ice crystals. He magnified crystals at 69 to 3,000 times on glass plates, and ultimately verified that every ice crystal actually is unique, growing symmetrically in a 6-sided hexagon around a miniscule nucleus. The shape the snowflake ultimately takes depends on its water content and the temperature.

Those photos by Bentley completely knock me out. Photography was in its infancy when he started experimenting with photographing snowflakes. And he had to invent a new camera to be able to pursue his obsession. But just look at those photos. Simply amazing and awe-inspiring, just because a curious Vermont teenager cared enough to keep at an intellectual pursuit day after day, year after year.

After being inspired by Bentley's photos, check out www.snowcrystals.com to find more snowflake photos and physics as well as links to help you find snow activities (such as "snowflake watching") for children and adults. 

Let’s hear it for slightly fey compulsions, pretty pictures—and also graupel.

August isn’t the month that I usually start thinking about winter, but with the lows in the high 50s last night, it definitely felt a bit like fall. And fall does get me thinking about winter preparations – and wondering how much snow we’ll get this year. Snow makes me think of snow handling tools and there’s nothing quite as satisfying as blasting the stuff out of your lane with a tractor-mounted snow blower.

To help with this year’s snow wrangling, Deere and Company’s Frontier Equipment group has released a new front-end loader-mounted and a pair of SB12 Series 3-point-hitch-mounted snow blowers.

The 76-inch wide SB2176 Snow Blower mounts on any current John Deere 400 Series Loader and gets its power from a PTO-driven, 3-point hitch mounted, hydraulic power pack that’s fully independent of the tractor’s hydraulic system. And if you need a bit more traction with the blower mounted, the power pack can be fitted with suitcase weights for added rear ballast. Operators use the tractor’s loader hydraulic controls to adjust the snow blower’s cut height and pitch while moving snow.

“The SB2176 has an industry-exclusive system that automatically monitors the torque applied to the impeller. The auger automatically slows when maximum torque is sensed and this allows the impeller to move away excess snow and helps to reduce plugging during operation,” says Michael Horrell, Frontier Equipment marketing manager.

For farmers and acreage owners who own utility tractors, Frontier also announced 74- and 80-inch, 3-point-hitch-mounted, . These machines are more traditional PTO-powered tools, but they are built to move a lot of snow very quickly.

“This is a commercial-duty snow blower for customers with compact-utility or utility tractors between 30 and 80 horsepower. It’s a great fit for large property owners or contractors who desire to own a commercial-grade snow blower at an economical price,” says Horrell.

I have yet to need a snow blower here in Kansas, but when I farmed in South Dakota, there were plenty of days when I could have made good use of any of these new Frontier machines. Pushing out 10-foot tall drifts isn’t that much fun with a loader – especially when the wind rebuilds them faster than you can remove them.

If you live in the snow-belt or are considering a snow-removal side business, you just might want to head down to your nearest John Deere dealer and have a look at these new snow blowers from Frontier.

 

Look at any USDA Cold Hardiness Map and you’ll see a thin band along Lake Michigan colored different from most of the rest of Michigan.  Weather Channel maps in winter often show that same area colored white when the rest of the state is colored green.  Though it may seem as if the map-makers run out of the color they’ve been using when they get to the western side of the state, Lake Michigan is the actual cause of the change in color. 

Lake Michigan keeps this area more temperate than the rest of the state.  Here, along the shore, the wind passing over the cooler lake water keeps our summer temperatures milder.  This gives us a Zone 6 cold-hardiness rating, a zone warmer than most of the rest of the Lower Peninsula – even just a few miles inland from the lake.  In winter, the lake is warmer than the air, resulting in less extreme fluctuations in temperatures.

It’s this relatively warm water in comparison with the cold winter wind that produces the phenomena known as “the lake effect,” and it generates a tremendous amount of snow.  Artic air blowing over the Great Lakes picks up moisture from the water, and deposits it inland as snow.  Areas east and southeast of the lakes are where the lake effect snows are dumped because artic air masses typically come from the west.  So while that same artic air is clearing up the skies over most of the rest of the country, Great Lake communities are fueling their plows and preparing to get buried in snow.  Thirty to sixty percent of annual snowfall in these communities are due to the lake effect.

The local radio station here reported that the South Haven area has had 50 inches of snow since November of this year; 2 feet were on the ground on Christmas Day which makes it the whitest Christmas we've had in the past few years.

Not all of this snow is lake effect; the low pressure cell of winter storms that hit much of the country recently is responsible for some of it.  It’s the air flow that typically comes behind the storm’s front that produces lake effect snow squalls.  The wind can last for days, making lake effect snow bands persistent.

Lake effect snows are not restricted to the Great Lakes region; any large, relatively ice-free lake which provides a long stretch of water (known as “fetch”) with warmer water than the cold air blowing across it can produce lake effect snow.  But lake effect snows are the most common and heaviest along the Great Lakes shorelines.

I’ve always loved Lake Michigan.  I spent many summers of my childhood camping along her shoreline with my family.  Now decades later, living in South Haven just a few blocks from the lake, is a dream come true.  Living on the oppose side of the state as a child, however, I did not experience the lake in winter. 

The shoreline is an entirely different experience than it is in summer; it looks foreign – almost like a barren alien landscape on another planet.  There are no sun-worshippers on the beach – the fair weather visitors are gone as the sun rarely shines in winter.  Yachts and pleasure boats sit elsewhere in dry-dock like beached whales with their bellies exposed.  Great chunks of ice clog the channel to the lake.  Waves roll the icebergs in fluid motion, giving it the appearance of a long serpent breathing deep, deep breaths.  

The pier is relentlessly beaten by waves, which start to freeze even as they crash over the top of the structure.  The lighthouse at the pier’s end wears an icy sheath, its paint a red undergarment peeking from beneath.  There are always a few cars in the beach parking lot, their occupants protected from the elements as they watch the power of the lake from their tiny capsules of safety.

  

One cannot live by the Lake and not be awe-struck by her power.  Lake Michigan’s voice is deafening in winter, and it calls to me as urgently as a bright summer day beckons the sun-worshippers to the beach.  Weird as some may think this is, I prefer to be out in the elements close to the water, rather then just view it from inside a vehicle.  I love the beach in winter, and I usually have it all to myself.  The fierce howl of the wind blows as bitter as an old maid’s memoirs, and the roar of her waves drowns out any of my yelps caused from the wind slapping my face.       

As I write this, it occurs to me that the lake effect is not just a weather phenomenon.  It’s a feeling; it’s Lake Michigan’s effect on my soul.  At times, it may be as stormy as the lake itself (as when I’ve fired up the snow-blower multiple times a day just to try to keep up with the continuous snow that sometimes never seems to stop).  Most times though, even on the darkest winter days, it’s a peaceful feeling; a feeling of awe that this thing of great beauty and power inspires. 

Lake Michigan has as many moods as it inspires in those who live near her.  Local photographer Karen Murphy (no family relation to me) captures them beautifully on her photo gallery website at http://www.kmurphyphoto.com/lighthouse.htm.

Map courtesy USDA.