We interrupt our regular programming Tuesday, Jan 15 2013 

to note that the majority of citizens involved in a small town’s: commissions, church choirs, historical societies, library boards, and other subversive organizations will be considered felons and fugitives from justice if they live in the state of New York in a year and a day and if they have not, by that date, surrendered their property without proper recompense in accordance with an ex post facto law that contravenes the spirit if not the wording of the Constitution.

That is all. We now return to our regular programming.  Following the fine example of the New York state legislature comments concerning this post will neither be discussed nor answered.

Busy world out there Sunday, Jan 13 2013 

I was poking about in the woods yesterday, looking at a property line, and noting who else had been out there.  Snow is very, very useful for that sort of long-term observation.  As it has been warm, the prints were a bit hard to decipher but: deer, coyote, domestic dog, fox, domestic cat, bear, squirrel, turkey, possible grouse, mystery critter, and mice.  Everybody uses the same routes, which can make it a bit hard to figure out, especially the dog/fox/cat group if they are at all melted are overlaid.  I suspect there is a dog as well as a coyote, simply because there was a single, big canine coming into the area on a very different route than all the other tracks.  I can’t tell them apart except when there is, as this time, a notable size difference.  And, of course, some of those tracks might be bobcat tracks; I did see one this year in that area, so it is possible.

As for our mystery critter: not the right shape for a dog, (nor the right behaviour unless dogs can climb trees), bigger than a domestic cat, wide splayed toes but not shaped like the possum/coon/skunk types, and Claws.  Take a bird’s toes and attach them to a cat paw, and you’d have it. 

My favorite track this winter was in light, powdery snow; it was where some bird of prey, probably an owl, had struck at a mouse in the snow.  It had missed, but there was a perfect imprint of the tail, and wing tips, with another set of wing tip marks as it took back off again.

Proper Ladies Thursday, Jan 10 2013 

For certain readers from certain areas that may or may not start with ‘C’ this may or may not offend.

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Julie was nothing if not independent; making her own way as an author, she was nonetheless highly aware of the correct societal norms, especially as they concerned her daughters. She insisted that they learn the proper skills and manners to succeed in society; her letters are full of remarks and corrections, even when her daughters were adults, and give us a great deal of insight. One of the more disconcerting aspects of examining the upper middle-class, well-educated, women of the late nineteenth century is just how accomplished, independent, and frankly formidable so many of them were…several generations before women’s lib (but I won’t go there). They may not have occupied the upper echelons of business and they may not have been able to vote, but they were neither dim nor silent.*

Some attributes of a proper lady, judging by what Julie encouraged in her daughters: they were comfortable travelling alone throughout the US and with appropriate escorts in Europe, they were well-read, multilingual (Latin, French, and German at least), they could manage the household, ride a horse, drive a horse, make clothing, do fine embroidery, read music, hold up their end of a conversation, garden, could draw passibly and had elegant handwriting, and could shoot.

It is that last thing, of course, that in the current climate will no doubt appall some of my readers. Yet, Helen carried a handgun much of the time and needed it once to fend off a robbery on the road to Hartford, Lucy in the next generation generally had a handgun in her purse, and if I recall correctly Helen Adelaide once backed her husband up with rifle in hand in the tense hours of negotiating a potential agricultural strike.

Aside from being used on a farm as varmint control and for hunting (the former generally only the men, the latter sometimes by women as well), guns were regarded as potentially useful tools that a proper young lady should know how to use if needed. They were tools that ensured their independence and relative safety and were absolutely nothing unusual that merited concern. They were also fun tools, as the sketch from the guest book from the summer of 1877 shows. The woman in question was Helen Yale Smith Ellsworth.

We know that the guns owned were designed to be carried in a purse or pocket. Given that, given the independent nature of the people in question, and given that there was no particular desire to collect guns; the only reasonable inference that I can draw is that the women of that generation felt that having the ability to carry gave them a level of defense that their mothers and grandmothers lacked. It wasn’t paranoia or politics, I very much doubt either Helen or Lucy were given to such; it was simply part of being a capable woman. Despite its enduring popularity in the novels of that day and today, ‘damsel in distress’ was not approved practice.

I’m happy to report that the ability to use tools continues today.

*Obviously, there were some dim bulbs, there always are.
*By well read think Memorizing the English Canon from Shakespeare on.

Tulip tree in winter Tuesday, Jan 8 2013 

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You know it’s windy Sunday, Dec 30 2012 

when the house is shaking and the windowpanes rattle.  On the plus side…after a distracted morning wondering where the drip is in the library, never a sound one wants to be hearing, I have finally discovered that it is not a drip at all.  The big plexiglass panel over the diamond pane windows has developed a tendency to go ‘pop’ at the bottom corner when the winds sets it vibrating just right.

The wind is making nice big drifts out of the snow though.  Whirling dervishes of ice rise up out of the meadow and come racing east, the drive that was plowed just a few hours ago is already rapidly closing, while the north lawn has been transformed from a flat plain into a landscape of drifts and eddies around the trees.  As the wind hits the west face of the house, it rises and drops the snow; eventually the west lawn will have a great drift that can easily be twenty feet long, for most of its length it will be only a foot or two, but as it drops over the story high bank it will fill the space, eight feet deep.  Blocked by the house, the east lawn will have no drifts at all.

Brrrr Thursday, Dec 27 2012 

Snow, of the heavy damp sort, finishing off as rain.  Far nastier stuff to deal with than snow at much colder temperatures.  Liquid water at or below the freezing point tends to be heavy and dampening of clothes and spirits.  The snowblower can’t deal with it.  On the other hand the tractor, believe it or not, started right up and proved effective.  Of course, we can’t use the blade on the gravel front drive…so I do hope that no one tries to come in the front entrance. …believing that they can do so, despite it being unplowed, because of the tractor tracks….  Would rather not have to fish a delivery truck out of the meadow.

The gathering storm Wednesday, Dec 26 2012 

Winter in New England is sometimes portrayed as simply grey, a monochromatic world.  Yet, even the cloudiest day is a far more complex palette, as anyone who has ever tried to paint it will attest.

Last night, the broken clouds at sunset were pink, gold, and blue; while the white snow reflected all the colours, offset by the deep green hemlocks.  Today, a complete overcast has taken away the pinks and golds, dulling the greens.  But in place of those vibrant colours are the many shades of gray-blues: the gunmetal blue steel sky, the blue/green/grays of lichen, the brown/red/grays of many trees, the cold pewter of the beeches, the black/white of birches, the dulled rocks without a single sparkle in the mica, but the ice and snow cling longer to them then to the ground and the stone walls stand out in the woods. 

Hardly a monotonous world.

Merry Christmas Tuesday, Dec 25 2012 

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Solstice Friday, Dec 21 2012 

Today, the sun has swung to its farthest point on the sun calendar that is the meadow.  Because it is not quite perfect, and the house is ever so slightly angled, it does not seem quite as far as the summer solstice.  Or perhaps, that is because on this darkest day, there is the knowledge that tomorrow will be brighter.  And that though the coldest days of winter still lie ahead, spring is coming.

We are hardly rational creatures…it shouldn’t affect as one whit, but it does.

Ice Thursday, Dec 20 2012 

December in Connecticut usually means ice rather than snow, the ground not yet frozen, the temperature wickedly variable and therefore usually a bit windy.   This is not a good combination.  Ice is, no question, very pretty.  Some ice is prettier than other ice.  Hoarfrost on a truly cold day, rising from a river, is out of this world.  Every tree a glittering, iridescent sculpture of purest white, against a clear, cold blue sky.

We don’t get that.  We get ice storms, and one watches the trees bend under the accumulated tons.  Sometimes great shards of ice will crack free, and the branch whips up.  Other times, the branch bends and then shatters.  If you are in the right spot at the right time, you will hear the first few warning cracks before it explodes.  But you don’t see it coming.  Heavily weighted trees can snap in half or, when the wind picks up to even the slightest of breezes and the ground is muddy, simply fall over.

Thankfully, this week’s storm shifted to rain.  An elegant coating without danger, that melted into the fog.

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