Sunday, December 22, 2013


If I lived, say, in Marseille, I'd never have days like this: waking to a half a foot of snow on the ground. Beautiful, fresh, puffy white stuff, coming down all around the farmette.

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Here's the farmhouse, in its snow-blown glory:

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I live in a state that knows snow. The plow is out just as we sit down to breakfast and the last snowflake settles on the branches of trees outside.


(The bird is pecking at the branch upside down. Presumably to avoid the snow.)

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Now, I promised myself that porch roof climbing would stop. But it did feel like a rather heavy snow, and the wind curiously created a few spots where I could actually stand on boards and feel more or less anchored, so for the hell of it, I went out and pushed the copious amounts of snow off the roof. My it's pretty from up there...

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And if that isn't enough outdoor exertion, there is the walkway (my job) and driveway (Ed's job) plowing to do.

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I don't mind it. There is satisfaction in heaving loads of snow off the ground to create a clear path.

And even this is not enough of outdoorsiness. Not for me. We go straight out to Lake Farm Park (that's the one just up the road from us) and we are the first to hit the trails. We do the long one today!

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For obvious reasons. The occasional streak of sun, the fresh snow -- it's all so beautiful!

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Really beautiful.


And because it is Wisconsin, the trail packing vehicles were out getting the trails ready, so we benefit from that as well. Though we are here first!

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In the afternoon, we go to my daughter's house to look in on Goldie the cat. Like Isis, she doesn't really disturb wrapped packages. You have to wonder what she's thinking -- are these colorful blocks for me? Well now, thank you.

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...But I prefer my own toys.

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By the time we drive home, the snow begins to fall again. Lightly. Nothing requiring additional clearing.

At the farmhouse, I put on my good playlist and I light those beautiful lights on the little "tree." Did you notice the Polar Bear below the tree? I grabbed him from the reject pile as my daughter picked through old family ornaments and decorations. I think my girls always believed he looked more like a toilet plunger than a tree ornament. Maybe. But if so, then let's just acknowledge that he is one helluva really handsome toilet plunger!


Chicken chowder for dinner. It belongs to this day.