A Conversation With My Boots
The boots are all business at these times, plodding forward like draft horses, saddled with crampons that grab the ice underfoot.
Nothing Much Happens
If you had to pick one thing to describe rural life, it could easily be that nothing much new ever happens.
Power to the People
I wonder how far it will be in the future when the notion that we delivered electrical power around the world by stringing wires over hill and dale will seem archaic.
Porcupine
Going forward, I want to stress this for any porcupines that may be reading this postcard: Huck does not sniff around first thing in the morning. Remain calm. Stay put.
Green Tomatoes
It is tough to be a tomato in New England.
Winter
If you want the real deal when it comes to New England, you must come in winter.
Our Inner Loon
[Loons] are among the Eagle Scouts of evolution. They are ungainly on the ground, not graceful fliers, but clearly, loons opted for diversification, perhaps because it made sense to hedge their bets at a time when volcanoes were still erupting and meteors plummeting to earth.
Migration Time
It will be the unique and solitary sound of the owl serving as our closest friend over winter . . . except for footprints in the snow and a few ghostly pictures from our wildlife cameras strung around the trees.
February
The rhododendron leaves are folded up very tight this morning. I could pluck one and slide it into a cigar tube. It is forecasted to be twelve degrees tonight, and the temperature is headed down for the weekend.
Happy New Year and a Half
New Year feels more like the middle of the year to me. The feeling derives from measuring time in school years and the passing of summer vacations.
