Stormshines

There once was this awful ice storm that kept coating tree limbs with such heavy ice that they not only broke off and fell but many whole trees were uprooted altogether, days and nights filled with popping, cracking and slamming sounds in forests and in towns.

Those with chainsaws and winches traveled about to help clear these trees that blocked roads, making it so no one could go about their work to support their families. In this town where we live, there are many "old families" who've lived here for generations. Most lived in harmony, as you'd imagine, but here were a couple who'd carried on with feuds not unlike the Hatfields and McCoys, short of violence.

One day, a massive tree blocked a public road, and there was no going over it easily even climbing, nevermind around it with a vehicle. And it wasn't going to move itself.

To my amazement, two members of a feuding family came to it at the same time, each wanting to get to the other side. Each had a chainsaw and knew just what to do to slice into that barrier, bit by bit, to move it out of the way in any way they could manage. Extra hands would make lighter work of it, but there was no way to call for help back then. They were on their own.

Each man eyed the other, having no little dismay at being forced to lend their tool and fuel to the other on this task. Their eyes locked in this understanding of mutual resentment.

But then their gazes softened to reason and yielded to their willingness to do the right thing of setting aside their emotions, at least long enough to tackle the greater priority of freeing access for their own friends and family and selves, and the pride of doing it well and quickly, in honor of the good men who taught them. Perhaps a little spirit of competition, too, was at play in feeling motivated to show off some of these skills and best the other at the same time.

VRRROOOOM VRRROOOOM VRRROOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM! the saws burst to life, chains spinning! In the wrong hands - or with wicked intent - a person could lose a limb. Accidents can and do happen, and no one's gone to jail for such yet because no one would be the wiser. Or so the temptation might say.

Another moment of eye contact put that temptation to rest: Just live, and do this thing in peace, and get on with life in one piece. A gentleman's unspoken contract, and a sacred one.

BWWAAAAAAHHHHHMmmmmmmmm...BWWAAAAAAHHHHHMmmmmmmmm...Each took the opposite end of the tree to free up the weight of the middle where there was no hard road beneath to dull their chains. Those freed, they came in from the ends toward the middle, slicing straight through the obstacle as far as they could until sense and common experience halted them. One was willing to climb to the other's side of the log, and joining strength, they rolled it to expose the final cuts needed to finish that stage of the task where the now-smaller parts could more easily be rolled or lifted and tossed off the road and out of the way.

Later, someone might come to collect the log sections to make them smaller and let the sun and wind season them and make them dry enough to put in a stove to heat their home the next winter. For now, they were pleased it took less time to be successful than it would've had they put their efforts to screaming their laundry lists of differences and reasons they don't want to do the work.

The only sound that came next was the slamming of two truck tailgates after chainsaws, oil and wedges were put away and the men resumed their days. As they got back behind their steering wheels and started their engines to continue heading in opposite directions, they exchanged one last glance of appreciation for respect and help, punctuated by small mutual country "wave" of a few fingers lifted off the steering wheel before heading off forever changed by the fact that what was once thought "impossible" had suddenly been made "possible", their claims of "NEVER!" rendered into "Maybe I WILL try".

There was no demand to suddenly like the other person, but the call to be willing to be part of solutions and peace was awakened as a priority whether they sought them out or cringed at the thought of more incidents like that challenge coming their way.

During that same storm, we were fortunate to have a drinkable brook behind the lodge and a good woodstove for heat. Treeworkers were invited night or day to come in and get warm and have a meal or snack, as it was grueling work in temperatures of twenty below zero at night. My husband became known as "that coffee and donut guy" who brought those and his chainsaw on a little sled down our road. He'd had the wisdom to park our vehicle at the neighbor's who lived at the end of the town maintained stretch; the last half mile was up to us to plow and maintain.

Bill took hot water to that neighbor for washing while they waited for fuel to become available again for their generator; town supplies were short for that ten days of calamity, but cold winters can become a beautiful second language and habit of preparedness. When the power company saw Bill and his sled with comealongs and coffee, prepared to try to move a huge boulder out "our" road inch by inch "come hell or high water, and high water would help", they made quick work of it with a swipe of their heavy duty boom, all the labor lightened by cheer.

I'm sure you are or know a person like that, too, those who never made it to "the news" but are forever recorded in our memories: people who offered power outlets to recharge phones during hurricanes, or climbed over obstacles to deliver urgent supplies, or shared sparse food with a stranger, or gave a little candy to quiet a heart or mind, or simply watched and reported a drug dealer to cops so they might be prevented from further harm.

A life is made as well or as badly in response to such events as storms and threats, moment by moment. And this moment is all we can call our own; we only guess we have a tomorrow.

So, if "there's no greater love than one gives their life for another", could it be that referred not just to heroics in battle but also to lending moments to lift another even if it's the last thing on our list of joys? We were born with our lives; they weren't "earned". Maybe it's worth considering that great successes are possible only by the strength and quality of even the smallest elements that go into them. A tremendous ship is grand, yet without even the smallest rivets that hold it together keeping their strength and form, its rudder would fail to help it go where it steers and its outer cover would fail and it would sink.

Smaller still are the molecules, the tiny mountains, which make up the metal from which the rivets are made; yet look at the wonders possible from being willing to put what little it has to some good use.

Why do I write this? I can't say "no" to doing so; maybe it'll do some small good somewhere to be reminded that there is no love or care "too small" to make a difference, and there's certainly no shortage of opportunities that would welcome it. Nothing has the power to shut the door against a possible "happy ending" to any string of events. So, let's keep finding or making ways to keep the good shining through the darkness, shall we?

Lark out.

Say Hello to Our Little Friend

Since I was able to get a few good shots of the pine mouse, I decided to try my hand at making a gif of it, so let's see if it'll post here!

Daze Cache: Starry Starry Ice

Aarrgh, the COLD!

I know, I know!

But the marvels to behold! You HAVE to go see them, because they can't come visit, and you'll never see them any other time of year!

I'm talking about a couple kinds of ice forming while we sleep!

For instance:

Some determined folks cart Bobhouses onto the lakes, whether the ice is "plenty thick" or not. With I had a closer shot of this, as the house on the right is actually an old skilift tramway car upcycled.

Sabbaday Falls on the Kanc (Route 112) in its usual fine form with icicles two or three times taller than I am. *Don't trek near without crampons - REAL crampons, not the cheap driveway ice creepers that can't bite as well as you'd need. Trust me; tried that on the Oliverian Brook trail and fell so hard my hip was purple for a month.

 Back to happier things, though! haha

"Starry Starry Ice" - some rime ice formed on a stick that was sticking out of the frozen brook surface.

Pretend this one is rotated left, OK? Brook surface with various ice forms.

"Where's the ice in this?" you ask?
Why, see the rainbow on the bottom edges of each of the clouds? Those are courtesy of ice crystals up high bending the sunlight "just so".

Be sure to wear protection looking toward the sun, of course. Plus, I couldn't see these without my sunglasses, and put them in front of the camera to help cut the glare to capture it.

Here in central/northern NH, there's still plenty of shape and color going on, even in winter. If you know how, when and where to look.

What do you have around you? Do you know? Find out and tell me!

Have fun!

"Lark"

Woods with a View: The Observatory

For those readers just entering into our seat in the woods, I thought I'd include a couple photos of what we call "The Observatory" set up by the little brook that runs through the property.

As you can see plainly, it's rather high tech: some ropes and a cheap tarp, with an upended broom as a "tentpole" of sorts for more headroom while seated on the cheap foam pad for our boney butts. (*You don't want a sharp stick for the pole, as snow load can force it to poke a hole).

Side view

View approaching from back on trail by driveway; "Island" in center of brook fork, then "Far Ridge" across second fork.

We set up this rig last fall before the temps had a chance to freeze the ground and make it hard to stake the lines, plus to enjoy a dry spot on rainy days when we want to take a break from our labors and just see who's coming to visit. Suet and seeds didn't go out until the bears went to bed for obvious reasons.

Back in the autumn, the turkey moms and juvies (with and without beards), about a dozen total, came down the hill, flapped a couple of times to leap across the narrow brook (which is just barely jumpable for a human, even taller Bill) and made their way up the Far Ridge.

Though we haven't seen them over the winter around here, I did get to spot several the other day. They seem to prefer to give a larger girth to strange things than even squirrels and smaller birds do.

Three turkeys blend with woods and stumps on the Far Ridge.

Mostly, short the rare sighting of the Christmas Mink (first time I saw), we've studied the gray and red squirrels, as well as the white- and red-breasted nuthatches, hairy woodpecker and chickadees, and now about two dozen goldfinches in their winter drab before whatever plants it is they eat in spring bring back their former golden glory.

This is not to say we're not observed, ourselves. Indeed, the Reds continue to study us on the way to and from their own conferences of mewling and chatters to outright skirmishes (usually involving the Island Red encroaching on the stump stashes of those on this side).

Conference

Dime-sized footprints and tiny little claw tracks to give them launch capability on icy snow - SO CUTE!

So there you have it, a little sampling of how we start our day. It's also where we get the only accurate weather forecast for the next few hours; if there's a horde of everything at the seed, storm's coming. If not, they're browsing on other things like some of the many spiders or snow mosquitoes still making their way about or some juicy larvae under the bark.

The chickadees stashed food last autumn like the squirrels did, and they manage to drop their body temp a good 10 degrees from 108 degrees F to conserve heat while they're stuffed in their little hole in a birch tree somewhere, one per hole, only to lose 10% of their weight by morning burning off the fat they gained the day before and stored over their chests. As soon as there's enough light to see trees, they're off getting into their stashes to fuel the daily foraging.

The woods are full of homes and stashes, it seems, whether the trees are rotted or healthy, standing or fallen. Sometimes it's best to include watching our own tracks and impacts.

Have a great adventure!

Til next time,

"Lark" (Gwyn)

"Some Perching Required"

This.
Days of.
This.
Hope it's good, because I can only see every feather right now!

And, yes, it IS supposed to be "upside down". Its title is "Some Perching Required".

Though I had some of my bird and garden reference pics to work from, the idea was from a memory of some years ago when we had a colony of Pale Corydalis flowers that came up from the burn spots of smudge fires we'd set here and there to discourage black flies from biting us while we worked the garden.

A hummingbird was trying really hard to get a sip from the tiny flowers while in mid-flight, but just enough of a breeze kept preventing that, burning calories with no return at all. So, he took matters into his own claws, perched on the tip near the blooms, and tried it upside down.

I don't know if he found it worth the trouble, as he didn't share that secret with me again. But I thought his innovation was clever and due some credit, considering it's such as he who helps pollinate food plants for us, too.

As it turns out, these Ruby Throated Hummingbirds are the only ones who raise their families in North America. What a privilege to see them a whole season!