Blizzards and Blossoms

Got snow?

After a break from snow during much of January, we received more than 18 inches of snowfall in the last 12 days. The recent snowfall lead to a surge of snow days and other cancellations and although the local school schedule has absolutely no effect on my life, last week's schedule ended up a bit topsy-turvy as I tried to time my trips into town between major snow events. It may not have been the week I originally imagined, but I did get some major dental work wrapped up and met deadlines for two freelance articles, so we're just going to mark it down as a good week.

I thought I'd catch you up on the photo roll. There was a full moon on Valentine's Day and Andy and I snowmobiled over to a neighboring lake to see if I could get any decent shoots with my little point and shoot. Although I won't be giving up my day job any time soon to pursue photography, I'm pleased with the results and think they give you a good idea of just how bright the moonlight was.

Earlier on Valentine's Day I made a batch of these: cream puffs from Mastering the Art of French Cooking. You know how you get those ideas that worm into your brain and just won't let go? At Christmastime, a jar of chocolate sauce arrived in a gift basket and the jar label suggested you use the sauce on ice cream, cake, fruit, and profiteroles. Profiteroles! Since New Year's, I've been haunted by the idea of cream puffs and I finally decided Valentine's Day sound like a good time to throw roughly a dozen eggs into a dessert that disappears in the blink of an eye. Also, I resisted the temptation to make the filling out of instant vanilla pudding and Cool Whip (don't knock it 'til you've tried it) and instead followed Julia Child's recipe for Creme St. Honore. It was worth the extra effort.
 

 

Blizzard-y conditions kept us off the lake most of the week, but we sneaked in a few minutes of ice fishing before sundown on Thursday as the large snowstorm rolled in from the west. Speaking of Thursday - who watched the U.S./Canada women's gold medal hockey game? My heart and nerves are still exhausted. Ladies, ladies let us not rest upon our laurels once a 2-0 lead is secured or liefer Canada will bet us 3-2 in overtime. Moral of the story: the U.S. women have not won an Olympics since I was twelve. Cammi Granato and Karyn Bye, wherefore art thou?!

The snow that was predicted for Thursday didn't arrive until late that night. While the forecasters were a bit off on the timing, they were right about the quantity: lots.

To help break free of this monotone environment, I actually purchased flowers this week on a whim. They even smell nice.

The amaryllis is blooming too, so we have lots of dramatic flowers in the house at the moment.

If snow's got you down, remember: "Snow and adolescence are the only problems that disappear if you ignore them long enough." -Earl Wilson

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A New Year

I turned 28 yesterday. At this point in my life, especially since I  live so far away from the vast majority of my friends, birthdays really are just another day and yesterday was no exception. In fact, we lost an hour of my birthday to daylight saving time, it snowed three or so heavy inches the night before which made my commute home from my parents' take an extra 40 minutes, I worked more than I played  (yes, I know it was a Sunday) and I capped the night off alone watching an HBO documentary about the 1980 USA hockey team since Andy was off at a sports show for work and didn't arrive home until the wee morning hours today.

Okay, so maybe the start of my 29th year doesn't sound terribly great on paper, but I assure you I had a perfectly lovely day.

For one thing, I'm rather glad to have missed out on being a member of the 27 club. Whew! My brother did subtly point out to me yesterday that I perhaps have not lived my life in notorious enough of a manner to rank up there with Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse even if I had met an untimely demise last year. You know what? I'm okay with that.

Honestly, I'm kind of excited about 28. I've always had a fondness for the number 8. My hockey jersey numbers were 8 and 18 and I remember both of those ages fondly. At eight I totally rocked the second and third grades (advanced reading group, holler) and met the love of my life (#notreallyelementaryschoolsweethearts), while eighteen brought my first trip overseas (hello lover, erm, London) , high school graduation and the start of college. So even if this belief is somewhat delusional, I feel as though 28 might just serve up something big, exciting, and wonderful. Maybe? Just maybe? Maybe not?

I've been hearing via the blogosphere that our 20s end up being our time for searching, stretching, and well, more often than we'd like to admit, struggling. Now our 30s on the other hand (or so I'm told) is when we really get to settle in and thrive. So although I have a few years (okay, two) to go before hitting the big 3-0, I do feel that I'm getting closer to a point in my life where I can settle down a little bit and enjoy the fruits of my labor. At least I hope so, because I rather loudly proclaimed to a colleague yesterday morning, "I'm tired of making hay!" in response to the infamous "make hay while the sun shines" quip.

I think we all get a bit weary of making hay every now and then. Last week my motivation tanked and decided to throw myself a little pity party over the fact that I live in the forest far, far away from the rest of my friends. (I may spend a little too much time alone in the winter.) But this week is not only a new week, but a new year for me, so I'm planning to head forth with a better attitude and a deeper acknowledgement of the beauty around me.

The amaryllis we received last Christmas is blooming again

At 9 p.m. last night, when I was telling myself, you have to work, you don't get to paint your toenails, I thought what the heck, it is my birthday. Just paint your toenails already. Maybe 28 will see me letting go of my delusion that I can and will work 14 hour days and then being consistently disappointed in myself for failing my lofty and unattainable performance goals? We can hope.

I'm sure this color (cranberry cream) was very trendy when I bought it in 2001

I spent the weekend with my parents watching the boys state high school hockey tournament (and a fair amount of Parks and Recreation in between games). Although none of the northern teams came out on top, I had a great time introducing my parents to the wonder of Twitter during the game - it was pretty fun to watch #thetourney trending away.

Oh, there was birthday key lime pie too yesterday. If you want proof of just how old I am, please note that I expressly requested a large piece of pie at my birthday dinner which . . . I could not finish. What is the world coming to?!

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Searching for 'Whelmed'

Chastity: I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?
Bianca: I think you can in Europe.
- 10 Things I Hate About You 

I've been on the lookout for "whelmed" lately. I'm trying to prove that you don't have to go to Europe to find it. On the other hand, a little European adventure right about now might be the perfect escape . . . .

The thing is, I've been feeling a little overwhelmed lately. While I know this is always the busiest time of the year in our household, I seemed blessed with seasonal amnesia and over the course of winter, I forget just how manic things can get at high summer. These days, just when I feel like I've gotten my arms wrapped around everything again, another shoe drops.

Bars need to be made for the neighborhood potluck (which I didn't attend because by this time in the summer I hate all people . . .joking . . . erm) . . .

Or the garden suddenly looks awfully thirsty . . .

Or I have a board meeting on my day off, followed by an interview for a freelance article, which means I don't get to town on my day off to do laundry and pick up groceries until after 4 in the afternoon.

Too many of the brief hours I spend in bed each night have been spent tossing and turning - worrying about how I'm going to get everything done the next day. On Monday morning, I realized enough was enough. I emailed one of my freelance editors and asked him to reassign one of my articles for the month. I've been a  reliable, hard working freelancer for this company on a monthly basis for nearly three full years, but I needed a (temporary) break.  I needed to go find whelmed.

Where does one find whelmed?

The berry patch is a good place to started. I picked my first two quarts of the season yesterday morning. Then yesterday afternoon, as though I hadn't proven my hunter-gather skills enough, Andy and I went out in the boat and I ended up landing a 21-inch whitefish. (Not what we were fishing for, but a welcome surprise.)

(My mom said she just loves dead fish pictures [sarcasm], so the photo above is for her. Forgive the crazy eyes and dopey, tourist-y hat. I'm trying to avoid sunburn this summer, which explains the hat, if not the eyes.) 

I think we can all agree that the last thing I need is another proverbial fish to fry, but an actual, physical fish to fry was pretty darn tasty and helpful in my quest for "life balance."

After a tasty dinner of fish, Andy headed off for training, I spent some quality time with the garden, fertilizing and watering at my own pace, enjoying the twilight and letting tomorrow worry about itself.

Where do you do to find "whelmed"

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Duck Eggs and other little wonders

Around suppertime last night, I became fascinated by a pair of common mergansers who were hanging out by the shore near the cabin. These two ducks have been spending a lot of time on these rocks this spring. Sometimes they go fishing in the clear, shallow waters. Other times, they simply sit on the rocks, preening or sunning themselves. I'm harboring a not so secret hope that they're spending so much time here because they're going to nest around these parts. 

This evening, Mrs. Merganser was taking a nap on the rock, while Mr. kept watch. 

Eventually they both fell asleep.

After about 20 minutes, I'd eaten supper and the two ducks were up and about again. 

Mrs. Merganser has taken to, how shall I say, relieving herself on the rocks, so when she crouched down, her derriere pointed right at me, I was expecting another lovely splattering of guano. So imagine my surprise when something round, beige and hard looking popped out. It took me a second to realize what I'd just seen. Could it really be an . . . egg?

Binoculars confirmed my suspicions. It totally was an egg!

I was a little surprised she'd just laid an egg for a couple reasons. For one, she was standing on a not so flat rock that the egg could easily roll off of. The rock, which is out in the wide open, and could also soon be submerged if we have some more rainfall. Wouldn't she want to lay her egg in a slightly more secure spot, you know, like on shore . . .  in a nest?

Still, I couldn't help but feel a little excited. Was I really going to get to watch the pair incubating their eggs (mergansers lay up to 13 eggs!) for the next month or so? Mrs. Merganser kind of perched over the egg for a while, but she didn't seem too into it. She nudged it about with her beak a little, but when she shifted on the rock, she bumped the egg with her foot and just as I'd feared, the egg slowly rolled down the slopped rock and plopped gently into the lake. Mrs. or Mr. appears completely and utterly nonplussed by the fact. They continued to go about their business as though nothing had happened.

I however was slightly horrified. That's no way to treat your baby!!

When the pair flew off down the lake, I had to go look at the egg, which was resting in about a foot of water.

I was surprised by both how large and how heavy it was. It was probably a third again as big as the "large eggs" we're used to baking and cooking with. I'm guessing it's unfertilized and that's why Mama Duck was so uninterested in it, but then again, are ducks really smart enough to know if the egg is fertilized or not?

Chickens certainly sit on their eggs regardless of whether or not the eggs will ever hatch and I remember when my grandmother had a small pet bird that she had to remove the egg the bird laid every single day or else the bird would get broody. Granted, that's the extent of my bird breeding knowledge, but based on that, I see no reason why Mrs. Merganser would be so uninterested in her egg. Who knows, eh?

Although I'm curious to know if I *could* eat the egg, I did return the egg to the bottom of the lake after I'd looked at it. Mother Nature knows best, I suppose and if nothing else, perhaps the egg will be tasty treat for some other (wild) mammal.

I discovered another little wonder on Wednesday, when I was walking to the mailbox and snapping pictures of early season wildflowers. I was looking for a violet to photograph when a little bit of blue caught my eye on the far side of the road. I know my wildflowers pretty well, but I had never seen it before and couldn't find it any of the many wildflower guidebooks in the cabin.

It took two parents (Andy's mom and my dad) to figure out what it is. It's a scilla and could have come in with the road gravel. Oh heck, it's probably invasive, but it sure is a pretty little thing. It's only about 4 inches tall!

Have you seen any little wonders lately?
 

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Wordless Wednesday: February Blooms

Tomorrow, the groundhog will tell us whether or not we'll have six more weeks of winter. Nevermind. There are blossoms to enjoy today.

Amaryllis

Remember the mum I left for dead? It's BACK!

Thanks for having more faith in my houseplant ability than I did, guys.

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Wordless Wednesday: Flower Therapy

Andy and I have spent a good part of the last couple days racing winter storm warnings. (The snow missed us, which makes me so oh-so-not-very sad.) Despite my optimism about impending spring on Monday, lately it's been blustery and cold. Lake Superior's in its second day of  turquoise-hued turmoil. Looks like we're getting a preview of April's "cruelest month" qualities!

To compensate for the wind and grey, I thought we'd celebrate our own little festival of colors here on Of Woods and Words and post some of my favorite spring flower shots from years past. What's your favorite springtime flower? Me? I can hardly wait for lilacs!

Lilacs, Gunflint Trail, MN, May 2010

Daffodils, St. James Park, London, March 2008

Ballintuber Abbey, Co. Mayo, Ireland March 2005

Morrab Gardens, Penzance, Cornwall, March 2008

Iris, The Cloisters, New York City, April 2010

Wood Sorrel, Columbia River Valley, Oregon April 2010

Pink Moccasin Flower, Gunflint Trail, MN May 2010

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Unfurling, slowly

The Christmas cactus under the living room window formed teeny tiny buds towards the end of October and over the last few weeks we’ve watched the buds grow and grow until finally it burst into bloom last week. Now the African violet on my desk is following suit, shooting up little bitty buds that slowly turn purple and carefully lift a petal one at a time. I’ve been feeling less the Christmas cactus in its current state of bloom and more the tightly closed buds on the African violet waiting to burst free. 

I think every writer’s been here.

These dark moments when the doubt demons flare up. When there never seems to be time for the creative writing – all the “good” time gets allotted to things with deadlines. When you wonder if you’re ever really going to make it as a writer. And when that fleeting thought that maybe your mother was right and you really should have tried for law school after all passes through your brain with uncomfortable frequency.  

I don’t think this feeling of general discomfit is limited to writers. Although the nags and worries might be slightly different, this is unease is just what the middle of November brings

Don’t get me wrong, the snow was (still is) pretty. But after too much time penned up in your home office, when the temperature won’t break above freezing and the skies have been grey for a week straight and the days keep getting shorter and shorter,  it’s easy to get down into a “this might be the beginning of seasonal affective disorder" funk.

I ran into an acquaintance earlier this week who's been running a seasonal business for a long time: she’s used to the whole “winters off” concept and winding her way carefully through these short, grey days.

“Are you going nuts yet?” she asked. Then she reminded me of the value of this quiet winter time. This is meant to be the time for germinating ideas and allowing fleeting thoughts to percolate and grow in an organic setting. But I’m the kind of girl who loves the idea of whole, organic foods, but when given the choice between fresh squeezed guava juice and a diet Pepsi is going to shyly reach for the pop. Sometimes I don’t want percolation. Sometimes I want instant gratification.

But the middle of November is not about instant gratification. It’s about the gathering up the little light you have and slowly, slowly forcing your petals to unfurl.

Andy stumbled across this Stephen King quote the other day: “If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn't bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented.”

We don’t actually have a light bill, but I’ve seen a typical utilities bill around here. And I have to say I have received several checks for my writing that could cover the light bill. Is that talent? Well, if it’s good enough for Stephen King, it’s good enough for me.

So I’ll keep at it. If Stephen King’s to be believed, this writing business is a good way to have “light.”

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How Many Hands Does It Take To Put Up Siding?

Apparently six.

By the middle of last week, Andy’d reached the point in the shed project that it was time to deal with the siding. The floors were in. The walls were up and square. And according the carpentry expert down the road, it made the best sense to put up the siding before dealing with the roof.

So Andy and I headed out back to hang some siding. The only issue was that T1-11 siding is really much heavier than it appears. Also, when you have a short ladder that just barely allows you to peep over the top of the wall, it doesn’t work so well to have someone peeping over the top attempting to see if the piece of siding is square while the other person crouches on the ground, turning red in the face, trying to support the piece of siding and make the necessary adjustments to get the siding on straight. There was complaining, bickering, frustration, and in the end, defeat.

What to do . . . . what to do?

The good thing about staying in your hometown is that there’s usually an extra pair of hands around. Yesterday, Andy’s cousin came over and between the three of us, we got two walls done. Only two more walls, a window, a door and a roof and we’ll have a shed!

Happy Solstice! We had the most exquisite long summer day yesterday: blue skies, a touch of breeze, no humidity. The garden loved it!

Today, the official kickoff of summer as far as the calendar’s concerned, is overcast and humid. Rain seems imminent and although the rain will keep from weeding the garden, it also means we won’t have to water.

In truth, as another blogger pointed out this morning, it’s not really the start of summer: it’s midsummer. It does feel much more like the middle of summer. Yesterday, after the siding success, we sat on the deck talking for a bit and realized that July 4th, that unofficial mark of summer’s halfway point, is nearly upon us. That’s not necessarily a bad thing: July 4th is the grand opening at work. The next two weeks will be the last big push there while the second half of summer this year promises to be more orderly and relaxed.

I put in a half day at work today, which got me home and fed before three. It’s going to be a busy week on the work front and I’m trying to avoid overtime. I may have to head over to work every day this week, but at least that means I have a little more time at home each day too.

I should do dishes, but I think I’m off to hunt for wild strawberries before the rain reaches us.

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