after the climb

Anyone living here will have experienced a monumental shift of mood today: good bye January, strange, long month, full of sniffles, unexpected temperatures and resultant shutdowns. Hello February. Good bye Polar Vortex, hello regular old winter. Reporters, looking for new and imaginative ways to describe this week's bitter cold, compared our temperatures to those at the base of Mt. Everest. Ours were colder. But the comparison led me thinking that it really did feel like we had climbed Mt. Everest (or some such formidable peak) and now it's just a question of getting down. Still challenging, but so much less draining than the trek up into the unknown.

We are back in business. Schools open, Ed's techie meeting is on the schedule, my grocery shopping will proceed as it always does on Fridays -- with awe and wonder at the incredible bounty in our stores and with images of the good meals that may come next week from stuff that I pack into the grocery cart.

But first, of course, there are the animals. Early, quite early, I step out into a blissfully mild 0F (-18C). Wow! So warm!






So much pretty snow...






(Looking toward the young orchard...)






We turn off the heater in the barn. The cheepers can manage this next week's temperatures on their own. Indeed, overheating them now is dangerous: they must stay acclimatized to the current winter conditions. As for the cats -- we'll keep the one bulb going in the buckets.

Jacket, the kitten that looks like the dad rather than like Stop Sign, is getting just a little bolder. He did not instantly run away when he saw me in the distance.






Yes, Jacket in my mind is a male cat and Dance is the girl. I have no basis for guessing this except my preconceptions on how boy cats and girl cats differ in their behavior.

At breakfast...






... I ask Ed -- do you think we need to worry about the snow pileup on the porch roof? If you recall, Ed and I built a roof of plates of glass. How much weight is too much?
Ed shrugs off my concerns. It's fine. If you stood in one spot on the glass, you'd place more weight in that spot than any amount of snow there now.

Still, after I return from grocery shopping, I look at the snow up there in dismay. In the past, I have always shoveled it all off. For one thing, it made the kitchen that much lighter. And this weekend we're to get lots of rain, followed by more cold. In my mind, that's a recipe for problems: once ice forms there, it wont be safe to be out shoveling. And what if more snow falls after? It's a northern exposure roof. Sunshine wont reach it until mid spring.

If you were me, would you go out and take on that foot (more?) of snow on the roof? Yes, I know I've complained of knee and back injuries. But I've been doing the exercises (more or less)! So, if you were me, would you shovel?

Well, of course, if you were me, you would, because I do shovel. And why not?! We have a gift of sunshine and it's just so pretty to be out there, what with my iPhone set to lovely folksy music and the temperatures reaching a gorgeous 16F(-9C) -- I can do a little and see how it goes, right?







There is a bit of hesitation: I really should wait for Ed to be home so that he can pick up any broken bones from a hypothetical fall, but honestly, falling from that roof into a pile of snow cannot be that terrible!

(Stop Sign, reminding me that it's time for lunch ...)






In the end, I clear the whole roof. It takes me 45 minutes and it makes me feel far far younger than my 65 years.

And after, I pick up Snowdrop.

By all accounts, it was an unusual school day. I don't know about the boys (seriously, there is a detectable gender difference in this among 3-4-5 year olds), but the girls, I'm told, were giving each other big bear hugs throughout the day. I witnessed this as I tried to disengage an enveloped Snowdrop. Parents may have been overjoyed to have their offspring sprung off to schools again, but it seems that the kids were equally glad to be among their own.

As I snap her into the car seat, she asks -- can we go to the coffee shop and get a croissant? 
The coffee shop doesn't have them, sweet one. We'd have to go to the bakery.
Which one?
Madison Sourdough. You've been there with me before. (But I had never before referred to it by name.)
Madison Sourdough? That's so funny!
It's the place where you park your car by the wall art.

Oh, indeed. She remembers.











Pain au chocolat! Like the old days!






As we walk back to the car, she asks -- you didn't park on stripes, did you?
I did not. How do you know about that? Did someone tell you?
No... I just grew up knowing.

I haven't ventured out with her beyond our usual orbit. I see that at age 4, she now has the geography of the place down pat. "Oh! This is the way to our old house!" " That's where we go to visit Mr. J and Ms M!" (Mommy's friends.) "And Sol lived here. But now he lives by the zoo."

The other thing I notice is that today, she rejects a cap or even mitts on her walk from car to farmhouse. Blessed warmup!

(I also see that her bangs are too long. First game at home: let's play hair salon!)







And we do. And I trim her bangs. And we play a little of the pretend games we've been playing all week long. But I notice a difference: she's not insatiable. She had a round of pretend with her friends. She's open to other ideas now.






Ed comes home. She gives him a full explanation of how we should go about catching the second mouse in the farmhouse. Because of course, there is a second mouse.

A day of change. Of relief. Ultimately of sunshine. Of happy thoughts about what's ahead.

the very slow warm up

It's a long slog up from a bitter cold start to the day. But no one is complaining: the Arctic front did not come to a grinding halt right over our little state of Wisconsin. Today it began to move on up and away. Even though we will not rise above 0F (-18C), not until tomorrow, we are slowly recovering. Coming to our senses. Shedding the layers to just a half dozen when we go outside.

(This morning, on my walk to the barn, still at -25f/-32C.)







(All five come down for the corn treat! Can you see them?)






I actually had to walk back and forth several times: I forgot this, I ran out of that... Feeding animals in this weather can be a complicated business.






(Stop Sign comes around reminding me that leaving food in a bowl is not good enough: I must go back and defrost it for her kitties. Everything freezes instantly!)






Breakfast. Of the warm kind, inside.






Our cars are still useless and so Snowdrop is shuttled over to us by her dad. Schools are closed, for the fourth day in a row. Can you imagine the toll on working parents?

At the farmhouse, Snowdrop has plunged into pretend play. Every day. She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't pause to ask for her favorite cookie. She shakes off her outside clothes and runs to begin today's adventures with Tinkerbell, Brambley Hedge Mice, Muppet Christmas Carol and of course Gogs and the babies. And Ed, if he is not asleep or otherwise lost to planet earth for the afternoon.






(There is always a chapter that unfolds over food. Play food. But she takes it very seriously: who gets what, why and in what shape or form is immensely important.)






But here's a given: all Snowdrop tales have elements of joy...







When the little girl leaves, I suggest to Ed that we try to put life into the cars. I mean, we both need them tomorrow morning and it's not going to be any warmer then.

It's a challenge. Ed thinks I had over cranked mine. I think the battery is getting old. We both think that it's awfully cold outside.

Dusk comes and goes, we're still trying to work the cables between two cars. And just as we're about to give up, mine sparks into a full lovely roar.

I now have to drive it for at least a half hour. The roads are icy. I'm not ambitious: I do a loop just to the east of us. Several times. Early night: anyone will tell you that this is the hour when deer come out in search of food. On my circuit, I see no shortage of these graceful beasts.
















In the farmhouse, I get ready to fuss with dinner. But I remind Ed that we really have to think creatively on how to deal with the mouse problem. We have three cats lurking nearby, owls and hawks hungry as anything and still, there are the mice. Specifically, there is one ambitious little devil who has been terrorizing just one corner of the kitchen for weeks now. We've set traps, but the mouse is no fool: it can go in, grab the food and be out again before the door slams shut. Yesterday was the last straw: the mouse had made its way into the sink and down to where the garbage disposal leaves tempting crud for it to eat. I didn't know the mouse was there until I went to clean the pots and pans after dinner. I suppose I nearly water-boarded the poor thing by turning on the faucet full blast. It came scrambling up and out through the drain, up the sink walls, across the counter and past the stove, back to its hiding spot, probably somewhere in the basement.

So tonight we get serious. We take out our most robust trap and load it: peanut butter, almond butter, cheese with jam. I mean, is there anything more tempting to a mouse?

And within and hour, it is trapped.

I ask -- do you want to drive it out to the Conservancy?
Not really. Do you?
No...
Maybe we should both go?
Well that's just double misery...
So tomorrow?
Tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Because life returns to normal tomorrow. Schools reopen, cars start, life spins back to the way it was before the cold air hit us with such force.

the super big chill

If yesterday was cold, today is coldest. Perhaps not a record setter -- we are going to be two degrees shy of the lowest high ever (did I get your mind spinning on that one?), but surely in our time here in the Upper Midwest, this day is on the tip of the extreme. The NYTimes, noting Madison's temps this week, calls it the coldest in a generation. I'll vouch for that.

So many negative numbers! -25F (-32C) overnight. Only up to -12F (-25C) today. Down to -31F (-35C) tomorrow morning. And the wind chills! We are told to subtract another 20 to 30 degrees from what we have out there.

So cold, that the US Postal Service cancelled delivery for two days.

So cold that if you are dotty enough to go outside and play games, you'll see miracles happen. [This idea from a former colleague of mine: boil a full cup of water, go outside and throw it in the air! It will turn from liquid to gas before your eyes. Not a drop will fall to the ground!]











You'll ask -- go outside and play? Seriously?

The fact is that extremes stoke our curiosity: what will it be like...

Or maybe it's that we're rather joyous, having survived the first cold night (the power went off for a bit and that was a tad disconcerting, but then the electric clock went back to flashing its reassuring colorful numbers and we knew that we would pull through without much more than the occasional creak of protest from the old house). And more importantly, we found the animals to be okay too. Huddled around their heat sources, but doing fine!

(A rare photo of all three cats in one frame: Dance and Jacket are so skittish that once they see you, they do their disappearing act. Pffft! Gone.)






(The cheepers come down to check out the offerings, then go right back upstairs, where the heater is pushing some modestly warm air their way. All five, alive and accounted for!)






So, here we are, on a bright sunny day, feeling relieved.

(This is what -25F looks like!)






Not everything is functioning as it should, of course. None of our cars will start. Not today, not tomorrow. Ed was dismayed that I should even try to crank mine.

Breakfast conversation:
So how much did you crank it?
A couple of times. Maybe more like five times.
That's too bad. Let's hope you didn't completely drain the battery.






You need to know principles of mechanics to pull through extremes.


In the afternoon, the parents drop off Snowdrop.

Immediately she wants to go back to watercolor paints. Artist unleashed! Today, she goes beyond random application: she experiments with form, shape, color.





As she paints, we talk.
Look Gogs, this is an orange tree.
My mindless response -- orange you glad it's not a banana?
Huh?
Oh, it's from a joke. Here, let me tell you how it goes. I say knock knock, and ahah says -- who's there, go ahead ahah..
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?
Banana banana...
I am interrupted -- oh, Gogs, that's just a knock knock joke.
You know about knock knock jokes?
Of course!
From where?
We tell them at the lunch table.

She returns to her art and I think -- when did she stop being a three year old??






We talk about the cold outside and this triggers a recollection for her: isn't this weather perfect for hot chocolate?






Happy girl...






But in many ways, this newly grownup girl is the same Snowdrop I had here many months ago.
She turns to Ed, who is busy fixing a problem on his computer. Want to get married?
For her, marriage is all about the ceremony.
I laugh at the sidelines and sing a song that Ed and I heard again and again in Sorede. I've teased him endlessly with it -- 
It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do
Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you!






Snowdrop throws a party after. She and I sit back on the orange couch "munching" our pretend macarons. She whispers to me -- we married a really nice guy, Gaga!
I laugh at the sweetness of her perspective.






In the late afternoon, when the temps are at their miserable highest (-12F/-25C), Ed tells us he's heading out to check on the cheepers and kitties for the day.
Can I come?
Snowdrop, it's too cold.
Oh pleeeeeease! I just love doing this! I'm not cold!
You're not cold because it's warm in the house.
Pleeeeeease!
Well, okay, but just for a minute and you have to really bundle up!

Will you take me on your shoulders, ahah?











Cover your face, Snowdrop!






The farmhouse feels so very toasty warm after our adventure. Perfect time for a book she has grown to love, despite its rather peculiar twists and turns. It tells me something about her taste in literature -- she'll take a lot of uncertainty and even incomprehensible permutations, if the plot culminates in a spectacularly warm and joyous ending. Where Are You Going Baby Lincoln has all that.






Tonight is, of course, the killer night. I tell Ed that it cant be that much worse at -31F than it was at last night's -25F. All these negative numbers are cold -- how much colder can super cold feel? Of course, I don't have to spend the night in the barn or the garage...

Cross fingers, do a dance of hope, and let's all look forward to warmer days ahead!

the big chill

And so comes the big chill. The blast. The Vortex. All negative numbers (F, to say nothing of C) all the time. With a gusty wind to set the bite factor even higher.

It is really cold outside!

Ed and I walk to the barn, to the garage, to the barn and home again.






We're keeping a sharp eye on the animals. We had agonized over how to create safe environments, at least partially heated to counter the Arctic temperatures. At one point Ed suggested bringing the cheepers into the sheep shed.
We could put them in the bathroom and close the door. It can get quite warm in that shed, as Ed installed radiant heat in the flooring. Still, the thought of cleaning all that chicken poop afterwards pushed away that idea. It's not clear we could scrub their droppings easily out of the cement floor.

In the end, Ed redesigned a double bucket cave with a light bulb for Stop Sign and her babes in the garage, and we placed a space heater by the coop in the barn. Are these a fire hazard? We think not. The design of the heater is such that it shuts off if tipped. Too, it's a "mica-thermic" panel heater -- without the hot elements that are such a no-no for any creative placement. We're pretty confident that without some temperature support in the next two days, the cheepers (and maybe even the kitties) would be in trouble.






(Stop Sign is used to us coming and going. But when I poke around the garage to see if I can track down the kitties, she is on guard: her demeanor says -- don't go near them!)






(Hiding)






If you didn't have to stand outside and take in the sting of that cold air, you might find the landscape to be quite pretty right now. All that snow! And sunshine!





But the freezing air is brutal. The winds make it brutal times ten.

Me, I do have to go out: I have a physical therapy appointment to discuss exercises for my knee. I am so tempted to cancel or postpone, but I don't do that. I can benefit from both knee and back exercises! 

The PT person reviews my file (darn computers record everything!), and of course, finds a previous PT visit, also for back issues. He asks, as if knowing full well what the answer will be  -- have you been doing the exercises you were told to do four years ago? No? Too bad. Let me print them out for you again.

For this, I braved the cold weather. Ah well. I have a new printout, tucked into my "must do" folder. Yep: must do.


Snowdrop's school is, of course, closed. It was closed yesterday, it will be closed tomorrow and it may well be closed Thursday. In all my years (decades!) in Wisconsin, we've never had so many closings for terrible awful winter weather.

(At the farmhouse, she gets on her toy phone right away and does a perfect imitation of a "very important work phone call.")







I had decided that we need to introduce something new to the mix of our usuals (book reading and pretend play). I bring out a set of watercolors, hoping that at the ripe old age of four she can keep the little box of colors fairly clean and separate.

She can and more importantly, she loves the possibilities!






She is the water color queen, swirling colors on a bitter cold winter afternoon!






Afterwards, Ed helps her hang her work. We have a museum! All her babies visit as she explains to them the meaning behind each painting.












Later, much later, we play bookstore. I find this to be funny, because Snowdrop has rarely been inside a bookstore. Nearly all her books at the farmhouse come from Amazon and I'm sure this is true at home as well. In this particular game, I am told to read a book (any book) to her babies. I choose a book that I love, but that Snowdrop has yet to warm to (Miss Rumphius -- the lupine lady). As I read, Snowdrop pretends to be busy at her "book shop," but I can tell that she is listening and she is doing it with four year old sensibilities. In other words, she takes in so much more of the story than she did just a year ago.

Shortly after, she slides into role play. She tells me -- I am the old lady who lives alone because I chose adventure, but not marriage. I sit in my house and I look at the lilies growing outside.

Lupines, lilies -- same loveliness.

From here, we spin into a make believe world of the aging, as seen through the eyes of a four year old.






Time to go home. Even for the short walk from house to car, and then from car to home, I have to protect the little girl's skin.





We all have to create clothing guards and barriers. Icy sharp wind hits us as we step outside. Thank goodness for cars that warm up fast! For houses that warm up even faster! Tomorrow may well be the coldest of all cold days here. Hang in there, furnace. Hang in there, coop heater, and lightbulb in garage! We are so counting on you!