Notes from Maine - 2024/01/07

I just wrote January 7 above, but that’s a lie. I’m starting this note on Saturday night, so it’s actually the 6th right now. But I’m not sending it until tomorrow so that’s why I lied. I’m waiting for the snow to start. Some reports say that it will begin at 1am. There’s debate as to whether it will remain snow all night or switch to freezing rain at times. I’m going to update this note in the morning, so you’ll find out soon.

The horses are indoors. I tucked them in with plenty of hay, water, and grain so they can stay dry. I’m sure they’ll go back out at some point tomorrow. They could both use a little precipitation to clean some of the mud off. Brushing only does so much.

It feels cozy to be inside with all my outdoor chores done. I almost want to have a storm so I can listen to the wind tonight and watch the accumulation through the window in the morning. Any serious snowfall will bring even more chores though, and I’m not looking forward to that. The mud behind the barn has all frozen into a craggy, uneven surface so shoveling will be a pain.

When I was younger, I looked at renting a house that was built from cordwood. The walls were constructed from stacked wood, in a broad circle that was then chinked with straw and mud and finished with plaster. The curved walls were about 16” thick (half a meter) and the outside world felt like a vague memory when you were inside. Tucked away inside a cordwood house, I bet you could weather a storm without even knowing it had occurred. I didn’t end up renting the cordwood house. The weird, curved rooms just didn’t seem worth the price. 

Instead, I found a place to rent on an island. It was the second floor of an old schoolhouse. My kitchen was the old chemistry lab and I lived upstairs from a woman who spun wool all day. That schoolhouse was never once cozy. It had 12’ ceilings (4 meters) and windows that were nearly that tall. It was as drafty as a three-sided tent.

Years and years ago, I converted all the roofs on this house to metal. They’re great in a thunderstorm—nothing beats staying in bed and listening to the rain patter on the roof. But wind isn’t much fun. When the wind gusts, the metal panels flex and pop. I’m always worried that one will snap off and fly away. I guess if that was going to happen it would have already occurred. Still, I don’t like that sound. When we get wet, heavy snow (like they’re predicting), the snow will build up and then slide off the roof in sheets. It makes a zipping sound. The first time it happened, I ran around the house trying to find the source of the noise. 

* * * *

It’s morning. We have about 2 inches (5cm) of dry, powdery snow. The freezing rain that was on the menu never materialized. The broom easily dismissed all the snow from the deck. I let Albert run out into the field each time I threw his frisbee so he could see it land. Sometimes he skids to a stop and buries his frisbee in the loose snow, which slows down our game. I put the horses out even though the snow is still coming down. I’ll bring them back in after I’ve cleaned the barn. 

Oops, I accidentally just learned something. The icon for Freezing rain / Sleet / Wintry mix looks very similar to the icon for Heavy snow / Blizzard. So I guess we had periods of blizzard last night? If so, it must have been that type of blizzard that doesn’t deliver any real snow because we didn’t really have much to show for it this morning. 

Whenever the snow stops, I have about 50 yards (50m) of shoveling to do to make a path from the barn to the pit. Ideally, the horses will do most of the work. I take a bale of hay and break it up, distributing the flakes down the length of the path. As the horses graze, they stomp down (and probably eat) the snow, leaving a path that requires very little additional maintenance. That’s the plan, at least. Sometimes the horses don’t cooperate.

I’m excited to spend my morning next to the window, watching the falling snow and working on a book. If I’m reading the weather app right, Wednesday brings rain and temperatures in the upper 40s (10° C), so I’m guessing we’ll be done with the snow and back to the mud. There’s a good chance that I’m not reading the weather app correctly though—did you know that I just recently learned the difference between freezing rain and a blizzard?

I hope you’re safe and cozy wherever you are. In a normal winter, a storm like this would barely get a mention on the news, but we haven’t had a whole lot of snow to speak of this winter. Rain—we’ve had tons of rain—but not much snow. Robert Frost wrote a poem that spoke of, “the darkest evening of the year.” I used to think that he was referring to December 21, but I suppose that would be the shortest evening of the year. The “darkest” would have more to do with the moon than the length of the night, right? Around here, snowy evenings are never particularly dark. We have the lights of town on the horizon. The lights bounce off the clouds (I guess) and then are reflected by the snow on the ground and everything glows. And if Robert Frost’s evening was so dark, how was he just sitting there watching the woods fill up with snow? And how was his horse able to see the path? 

I’m really starting to doubt the veracity of Robert Frost’s account in “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” It’s almost like he made the whole thing up.