Winter has Come

I was reminded this evening that I have a blog. 

And then I noticed it's been nearly two months since my last entry. 

So a few words, and few scenes from home.

We gave Tristan and Tashi bows and arrows over the holidays, and then Dan surprised me with my very own. So we have some serious archery practice going on around here. Well, sort of serious.

Being a product photographer is fun (especially when the product is fun), and it is also very helpful in that it forces me to tidy the house sometimes. Tristan's room had major rehab one day before I took some shots of unicorns. 

And our room is always far more romantic when the bed is made and there is heart buck on the wall.

Skye dog continues to be awesome.

And particularly awesome in the snow, which we got a lot of last week. She seems to have some arctic blood. She chooses to leap through the snow banks like a fox, rather than walk on the road. And the cold damp doesn't stop her from tunneling her snout through the depths seeking unsavory treats.

The kids made a sledding slope out of our deck stairs.

There is nothing like a good snow dump to make you slow down, play, sit by the fire, appreciate the light, savor the silence, and accomplish some overdue indoor tasks. 

There was the first storm, which shut schools down for a couple of days and caused delays all week. And there was the second storm, where a couple of expected inches turned into several hours of unexpected accumulation. 

Alas, we truly have had a winter experience and spring is now most welcome to arrive!

And finally, we watched the Oscars, which was a good excuse for making these Cheddar Stars.

Yes, these are some scenes from deepest winter in our home. 

Here is a dreamy song called Winter is Coming by Australian singer, Matt Corby, non-official snowy video found on YouTube.

moon bright snow light

steel grey mantle. sharp clean air. a stunning shroud of moon lit sequins.

 the mandarin orange sunlight spilling across a snowy bower. 

the smell of wet wool and hard wood. whisper of flurries, exclamation of trees. 

bundles spilling from branches, sliding from peaked roof, 

sticking to gloves and boots and hats.

i love a  big snowstorm.

i dream of it really, every winter.

sometimes it's challenging to reconcile a mediterranean and arctic lineage. 

i prefer a temperate open-window-day for the bulk of the year. 

but please do bring me a couple of great servings of snow. . .  

just a couple, thank you very much!

the south has really taught me how to welcome a snow storm. the stocking up, yes, of bread and cheese and granola and a few great beverages. the preparation for possible long term power outages. some sort of stew recipe doubled. and at least a few baked delights. 

filling the tub and the pitchers, doing a few quick loads of laundry, grinding the coffee beans, charging the devices, making sure batteries and candles are in supply. choosing to alter or commit to schedules based on what if. checking radars and school closures incessantly.

dan is a heroic wood gatherer and uses the resources that surround us with just an axe and hand saw. we don't depend on our wood stove to heat us through winter, but when a storm comes, we prepare to rely on it. we assume that we will lose power.

he is also shovel master. our driveway is a beast to clear. this time he made two great tracks for our tires to roll through and left it at that.

to our astonishment, the power didn't flicker once with this storm, a huge change from what we experienced four years ago in the big snows, and even last year with the wet, heavy, end-of-march four inches. so we built fires for the love it. we continued to cook, to bathe, to run water from the tap. and we played some. not enough, nearly, but some.

we watched the snowfall ebb and flow and return. we lounged a lot and worked a lot too. we had impromptu family time and flirted briefly with an alternate schedule. our olympic viewing went uninterrupted, despite some difficult reception at times.

and it is still out there, mounds of snow, melting, and freezing, 

capturing everything that stains its stark white field. 

we continue to play in it, to wonder at the way the light plays on it

in the deep heavy there is memory. trudging up and down a long snow packed driveway. sledding alone when school was canceled. gathering with friends on friday nights regardless of road conditions. invigorating ski runs in subzero temperatures. wet hair freezing stiff while walking home from swim practice. damp boots and gloves and garments peeled off at every entrance. 

accumulation a daily norm.  

the built in pause at the window while assessing the frosted backdrop of your every outing. 

flexibility, balance, endurance: a winter pose.