My little gnomes froze all winter because I was too lazy in the fall to tuck their little house into the garage.  By the end of February the chimney had fallen over and the whole place was a shambles so I did a remodel, which took a little longer than expected and my ladder spent the night out in a surprise snowstorm!  I’m not very responsible sometimes 😦

Anyway, the gnomes finally got a back door and some exterior insulation.   The chimney is up and in good working order.   The roof is back on the dormer and, if not neglected by their landlord, the little folks should have a lovely summer and go into next fall warm and snug in their upgraded house!

I discovered this sweet little stretch of river twenty years ago. Even in that short amount of time the path that follows the river as it exits its mountain lake has been changed, not by the river, by people. There’s a gate and some benches now, and a doggie mitt station at each end of the trail, but it hasn’t taken away from the magnificence of the river, which probably hasn’t changed in hundreds of years. It’s called the Wild Mile by kayakers, and crowds come to watch the fun, probably an event happening soon as the river is raging, giving good clearance over the rocks and creating swirling holes, rapids and a serious challenge. Thankfully I’ve never seen a crowd – that would totally spoil the charm.

I’ve walked the path and climbed down to the river with all my dogs. The most memorable was late in the fall, 1995 or so, when the water was low. My little black cocker girl found two rubber ducks tucked behind a huge slab of rock tilted into the water. They have duck races on this stretch of river (for fund raising, I think) and the two Cassidy found still wore their numbers. They were pretty beat up, somehow escaping a flock of yellow duckies released up river who knows how long ago. I put one of the little guys in the river and we watched it twirl and spin away, smiling at us as it bobbed out of sight. The other one we kept for years, a reminder of a good time in a great place.

This week I made time for another visit. Though it’s beautiful in the deep of winter, often draped with snow and shimmering with ice, we’re coming into spring now and access is easier, not to mention things are greening up, always a treat! Pussy willow tufts are decorating the willows that line the banks. Yellow glacier lilies are just ready to open along the shaded paths close to the water. The dogwoods haven’t leafed out yet, and their bare red branches are gorgeous in the foreground of the blue water. The roar of that blue water is amazing – all that water crashing its way west! I was a little nervous about the kids wading into the few backwashes of calm water; the current just a few feet away SO strong. The dogs seemed to know to be careful but I still hollered at them 🙂

It’s always with reluctance that I leave that soul-restoring place. It’s nice knowing it’s always going to be there, roaring now as I type, probably being rained on, leaving the path deserted and the few quiet pockets of water dimpled with drops. There are few consistencies in this world, thankfully some things continue on despite our intrusion, blessing us with their enduring splendor.

This was another 10-minute free -write from one of my writing groups. We were given the phrase “the old rocking chair.” I have modified it some, 10 minutes is not much time to create perfection 😉

Summer’s long-awaited warmth took me and my buddy farther into the woods today than normal. I had seen a faint track last fall, just passed our turnaround spot on our favorite trail. Time was short then but now it was time to go explore it. Toby led the way, chasing the occasional squirrel, splashing in and out of the stream that followed our usual path. We’d hiked maybe an hour past our regular turnaround/lunch spot, hunting now and then when the trail fizzled out. All of a sudden the path became clearer, beaten and packed, leading us into an open meadow. At the far side of the clearing a cabin stood in the sun, tucked up against a hillside of ponderosas. The roof had caved in around the chimney on the north side. Time reeled backwards as I got closer. Sitting on the old splintered porch was something I’ve never seen at a deserted homestead – an old rocking chair. The relic rocked ever so slightly on the creaky porch, coming to life in the breeze blowing from the west. Stumbling on this old cabin in the woods was lucky enough, but finding the chair in this vandalized world was a miracle! Who lived here once upon a time? Who left in such a hurry that they didn’t take their chair? A piece of history, that chair! Not only could it tell marvelous stories but it’s become a rare thing. They don’t even make covered porches anymore, and I’m not so sure they make rocking chairs – at least no one I know has one that they leave outside – if they even have a porch! I didn’t want to sit in this old rocker, but I sat down on a worn step and gave it some serious thought – how many babies were rocked in a loving mother’s arms in the chair? How many sunsets has it seen? Did someone take it inside in the fall so those cold northern blizzards that blew under the eaves wouldn’t fill its seat? Who would leave such a chair? Did they leave on horseback? Surely they had a wagon! I hesitated going through the front door, closed against the weather but not locked. The inside was empty except for a huge, cone-shaped pack rat nest, strategically placed over caved-in flooring.

I had lunch by an old fenced-in tangle of a garden. Toby played to his heart’s content. I finally had to tear myself away from this bucolic setting, taking one last look at the sweet little house, frozen in time. We made our way back to the woods, and the old rocking chair creaked its rocking rhythm and said good-bye.

It’s mud season. I can even tell when I get home after dark – numerous sets of foot prints trail up and down my carpeted hallway, the most recent set still damp as my four-legged kids race down the hallway to welcome me home. Then there’s a congregation of prints as they prance around, telling me about their day and how much they missed me, wiping the last of the mud on my pants. This greeting is worth the clean up time – it’s only mud, after all, and vacuums up fine when it dries. When I get a day off I see it’s more than mud season – the first avens are greening up, the paths of ice in the dog yard are finally gone, and the bunch grass doesn’t look dead anymore. The buds on the lilacs, I’m sure, are getting fatter. Spring winds have started and it feels almost warm. Puddles in my driveway are gone. The fence has shown up again after months of being buried in gravelly snow by the plow. One of these days, when I get home after a long day at work, the lilacs will be blooming and I won’t remember mud season at all.

If you have dogs you know it’s a challenge to grocery shop with them in the car. I feel guilty depriving them of a ride so off we go, the three of us, to the store. Everyone knows it’s hard grocery shopping in the heat of summer. You ask the store clerk to bundle your frig and frozen items together and you hope you get them home before they thaw. In the dead of winter you still ask the nice clerk to package frozen foods together, and they can stay in the bed of the truck just fine. But you have to pay attention how everything else gets bagged up too so things don’t freeze! I usually have multiple errands to make on my trips to town and if the grocery store doesn’t fall in line with my stops, sometimes groceries have to stay in the truck for a while – enter dog logistics.

Coop was my first boy then a few months later Sara came to live with us. That November I thought I was being so careful, I put anything that looked like it might entice the dogs behind the seat. I left canned goods and cartons of milk, etc. on the front floor. I made one stop after picking up groceries. When I came back to the truck a quart of buttermilk had been chewed open and drained into the passenger seat – OMG! By the time I got home there were a few drips that had seeped through between the seat and the seat back, which I mopped up and cleaned as best I could. The rest of the milk was gone. It was below freezing outside, so I hoped for the best. To my surprise, by spring I never smelled a thing. I steam cleaned the seat but it was pointless. I can only imagine what that seat cushion inside must look like. So then came a waterproof seat cover that covered the whole front seat. I couldn’t leave the doggies at home. I bought a little tub for the front floor with a lid on it!

I had a meeting in town a couple of weeks ago and picked up groceries first, wanting to zoom home after the meeting before it got dark. Of course I took the kids. I carefully arranged the groceries, frozen stuff in the truck bed, veggies and eggs and fresh bread I bagged up and took into the meeting with me, three bags – it looked like I was bringing enough groceries to provide dinner for the whole group. After the meeting I lugged my bags out to the truck. I couldn’t even see the dogs – the windows were fogged up and dripping – on the inside. I mopped the windows down and got everything situated. All that hot breath must have kept it warmer than I thought in the truck – turns out I forgot to take in the celery and it was just fine 🙂 I was glad it was still there!!!

Despite the dicey weather, or maybe because of it, Cindy came over for a planned run for the dogs, visit time for us, hot soup after.   We were well dressed for a nippy 18 degrees and the dogs didn’t notice the cold at all, well, except Coop who has to de-ice his toes now and then.   Definitely a workout, 8+ inches of snow with crust, some deeper drifts, we worked up an appetite!  

Sadly, even after some effort to make my driveway more user friendly, Cindy got stuck at the top.  We took care of that before it got dark.   It just added to the fun and the workout we got, carrying sand and shovels and generally having a good ol’ winter time.   Buster was moral support while we shoveled and sanded, pushed, shoved, shoveled, grunted, and finally unstuck her car.  He was a big help 🙂

After all that I forgot to take a picture at dinner, but it was fun too!

I do love snow but sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with me 🙂 I don’t know why I trust the weather service either, I should know better. I went ahead and shoveled AGAIN yesterday because they said last night we might get an inch. Wrong! We got four more fluffy inches on top of the last ten so I had to shovel AGAIN. It’s certainly pretty out. I took a slew of pictures and will be ready for winter wonderland pictures if I do Christmas cards this year. I thought the draped snow on top of my pergola was worth sharing – I noticed it when I was shoveling the bedroom deck. I can appreciate the beauty but I wonder if one can get too much of a good thing? No, of course not 🙂 And it’s keeping me in shape. Building upper body strength by shoveling, leg strength by going with the dogs down the back and plowing through all that snow with them, down and then up. And now the moisture is going away and they’re predicting below zero the next few nights. I have to take them seriously on this one. I’ve practically barricaded my stove with wood so I won’t have go out much. There’s a weather warning out for severe wind chill. I’m as prepared as I can be and ready to fight back. I plan on winning!

Being a Phoenix girl from way back, I’m not a fog fan. Being a Phoenix girl I love a good rainy day, pretty clouds, a gathering storm, but I need my 90% sun. I adjusted considerably to the seemingly endless days of rain, mist, and constant dampness during my days in the Pacific Northwest; I didn’t like it but I adjusted. I don’t live in the Pacific Northwest anymore, I left there for a reason 🙂 When I first moved here Northwest Montana had fog in November but it was limited, we just had to serve our time but the end was always in sight. I think those days are over. I’ve heard of years when hoarfrost built up so thick it broke branches and power lines with the weight and those days seem to be gone, too. Good riddance 😉 We used to have the occasional day of freezing fog that made pretty lace hoarfrost on the remains of summer’s tattered spider webs, grew rows of prickles up and down my deck posts, and made crystal flowers bloom on my stack of firewood. Those days are becoming more and more common. Once in a while, the gray, smothering days leave drapes of pretty spiked frost that shatter into shards of weightless glass if you blow on them, unless they fall down the back of your coat when you carelessly brush pass a branch, then they are cold, cold, cold – like this latest go round. We’ve had seven days of thick fog. No sun, not the stirring of a single branch or needle. As a meager tradeoff we have an exquisite buildup of hoarfrost. My friend, Cindy, and I decided we’d better start fighting back, beat the winters blahs and cabin fever and go for a little stroll. We took the kids down to the lake, walked gingerly around the patches of ice and enjoyed the dogs slipping and sliding and plowing through old, crusty snow. Then back to my place for coffee and cookies. I love having company and sharing my fun dishes. Coop and Sara politely tolerated Buster coming to visit. Sara didn’t appreciate Buster playing with her toys, even though she hasn’t played with them in years, but the afternoon was a success. The dogs enjoyed some rambunctious exercise and Cindy and I shared stories and laughs. And miracle of miracles, there was no sign of fog this morning, just brilliant sun. The Phoenix girl soaked it up and the Montana girl dressed accordingly for the clear frigid air. Both sides of me hope for lots more of the same!!!

I haven’t gotten much sleep this week, though not for the usual reasons. Not sure what the usual reasons are – old age? Hope not. Anyway, this week a couple of owls have stopped by my woods. I saw the dark silhouette of the first one at twilight, swooping overhead. It looked small and stout. He landed and began making fun owl noises, such stereotypical owl noises I thought maybe someone was playing a game with me, hiding in the dusky trees. I’d not heard this one before and, silly me, I went in the house and let it go on hooting without me. Checking on line, first for local owl species, making note of the small, fat ones, I came across a Cornell University site, an awesome site with maps and descriptions and recorded bird songs, screeches and other interesting noises birds make. None of the owls I listened to matched what I had heard in my tree. Darn, there aren’t that many owls! This one kept me awake as I tried to remember its almost corny hoot but couldn’t. Could I have discovered a new species! Sad, because it just looked small, fat, and black and I can’t repeat the calls it made to tell anybody!

Two nights later I lay awake listening to a different owl, one I’ve heard many times before. And it was close. This one was gracious enough to repeat its message over and over. Whowhowho who who. It would have laughed to hear my lying in bed mimicking its call to my dogs, who thought I’d lost it. I wanted to be sure to remember it so I could look it up. As I lay there listening I could hear another one answering, far off in someone else’s woods. They hooted back and forth for some time. I was pleased to confirm they were great horned owls on the Cornell site, no doubt about it. Now I can picture these impressive birds sitting in my trees, which I’m so glad I have for them to sit in. 🙂 Some people would consider them sirens of the forest, luring them into dark and evil places, but my woods are safe and protective at night, and I’m thrilled to share them with the owls.

Two nights ago the dogs and I slept with the wood stove, a black and stout and very warm thing in my living room. With predictions of 0 degrees overnight I wanted to be sure to keep it going, and it’s quite pleasant once in a while to drift off to sleep in its peachy, dancing shadows. I woke up once in the wee hours to see a familiar friend sparkling outside the window. In the freezing darkness there was Orion, my guardian of the night, as dependable as a body guard, his sword at the ready. He’s my comfort constellation, and I lay there thinking back of all the places I’ve been over the years where he’s twinkled at me on a clear, winter night.

And just so you don’t worry about me, last night I slept like a log, all the way through 😉

This first line was mine, I’d actually thought of it earlier in the day. My only thought until the timer started was that there would be reindeer:
The steps in the snow were very mysterious. The dogs wondered about them, too, sniffing from one to the next. They were deep and wide, the edges blurred. Bigger than any deer prints I’d ever seen. We’d just come across them on our usual walk and, though it was getting dark, I decided to follow them. There was certainly more than one, maybe a herd. Should I be scared? No, definitely not wolf prints, so I kept going. The dogs were hot on the trail, a hundred feet ahead of me plowing through the snow. I trudged behind and could see the straight path the mysterious critters had taken into the trees. The light was fading but I could still make out the shadows of the prints. The lights in the valley down below were coming on. I paused to enjoy the twinkling Christmas lights, one of the ranches had strung lights around their house and all their outbuildings. I love Christmas lights! Now I was having trouble keeping the trail in sight and suddenly both dogs were back with me, excited and prancing around. And then the tracks just disappeared. Gone. I searched in the settling dusk but they had vanished. How was that possible? Wait a minute….did I just hear sleigh bells???