We got a lot of snow. My deck groaned under the weight as more and more blew off the rood into a massive drift. I tried shoveling it. Gave up. Waited for spring and finally, at long, long last, the sun began to do the job. Now my giant companion is shrunk to nothing. A fond and temporary goodbye.I know it will be back as soon as next winter’s snow begins to blow.
It’s maple sugaring time. Perfect weather. Cold at night, above freezing in the day. The time of year when the maple trees wake from dormancy and start pumping sap up from roots to revitalize trunks and branches. The time when, from earliest settlement, the maples are tapped and the sap boiled down into delicious maple syrup and sugar.
So, on Maple in the County weekend, we all head out for our annual binge on bounty from the maple. All the maple syrup producers, throw open their doors to welcome us in and ply us with pancakes and sausages, all drowned, of course, in maple syrup and butter. The money we fork over for our breakfasts goes to worthy causes.
Tramps through the sugar bush, sticky children racing and shrieking on sugar highs, maple “taffy” hardened on the snow are all part of the rush. Families emerge out of winter quarters blinking at the sun. The whole county is starting to come alive with the warming season.
In pioneer days, maple syrup and maple sugar were the only sweeteners, which accounts for our vast number of maple flavoured recipes. And if the local First Nations people hadn’t generously shown the newcomers where the luscious sweet came from, they might never have guessed it on their own.
I’ve been tempted to tap some of my own maple trees except that I won’t repeat the disaster of trying to boil down maple sap inside the house. Those who try it spend the following week scrubbing the sticky coat off every surrounding wall and surface.No, I’ll just make my own sugar high last as long as possible and line up enough bottles of maple syrup for the rest of the year. Yum!
The first killdeer is back from Venezuela.
They’re back. The flocks of Canada geese are now in the sky. Long Vs of noisy fliers sweeping along in search of their summer homes. The odd thing is, all the ones I spotted today were flying south instead of north. I sure hope they didn’t spend the winter freezing their tail feathers off because their compass was on the blink.
Canada geese arriving in streams. From the north!
Other signs of spring besides emerging beer bottles are the first killdeer with its sharp metal cry in the pasture, robins, starlings, yet more red winged blackbirds scouting the bird feeder and the marsh. And a lone goose squawking on the ice of the beaver pond wondering when the party starts.
After a night of -17C, these daffodils laugh at the wintery blast.
The roadside snowbanks have shrunk to ribbons and brown grass is making an appearance in patches as snow retreats. The road is streaked with dried white road salt. If a good spring rain comes to wash it away, I’ll maybe — oh, reckless ambition– be able to bring out my bike.
Daffodils two weeks after -24C
A couple of weeks ago it was -24C out with snow to the thighs. But a bit of warmth, a bit of sunshine triggers action. Even as the snowbanks sink, the daffodils are pushing up. They don’t care if it freezes or snows again. It’s spring even if they have to make it themselves.
Warmth in the day also means the sap is running in the maple woods. We shall stuff ourselves with pancakes and maple syrup when Maple in the County rolls around.
Finally we see just how MUCH sand has been applied to Gomorrah Hill
Briefly, it rained instead of snowed, something not seen since November. Back at the beaver pond, three beavers were out repairing the roof of their lodge and trekking about in the snow, tempting coyotes and shedding cabin fever. The ice must be soft enough for them to hack their way up to the open air.
Now one waits for the very first red-winged blackbird to hurry back from Mexico. They make it officially spring!
Pair of socks by the side of the road. Who rips off their socks and flings them out the car window while snowbanks remain?
Just over a week or so ago it was -24C and we were all coddling our water pipes. So it’s hard to believe the temperature has crept above freezing. Today a balmy plus 5 C. I am actually warm enough. The wood stove is out and my solar panel is flooding warmth. The snow is sinking down to perfect snowball and snow fort snow, the sort that used to soak us to the skin as we joyfully played in it as kids. We all want to shout, “Hurrah!”
Here are some pics of the changes coming upon the neighbourhood.
My local paper included a news item from 90 years ago when the council was preparing a bylaw about restaurants in town. The council had power to prohibit high-backed stalls in eateries and to regulate the window curtains and blinds so as not to obstruct the view. All this because the folks in the temperance movement wanted to look inside to makes sure follow citizens were not (horrors) imbibing alcohol.
Silly as this seems today, this is a tiny glimpse into the 1920s, the Prohibition years when liquor was illegal. Decades of hard work by temperance workers had hoped to wipe out the scourge of drunkenness that devastated so many families. Prohibition was their triumph and they meant to enforce it.
Yet Prohibition wasn’t working so well. It turned Prince Edward County, jutting far into Lake Ontario, into a hive of illegal rum-running as hard working fishermen discovered the riches to be scooped up by slipping good Canadian whiskey over to American speakeasies. Drinkers resorted to ever more devious ways to hide and consume booze. Doctors and pharmacists did gangbuster business dispensing “medicinal” alcohol. Commercial establishments could not be trusted to serve only tea and lemonade.
So no wonder the staunchly pro temperance majority in the county wanted to eye the beverages in front of patrons.
By the end of the 1920s, Prohibition was repealed but we still have the legacy today in the Liquor Control Board of Ontario which only allows alcohol to be sold through carefully controlled LCBO outlets, keeping hard liquor out of every corner store and grocery. It’s a system that has worked well for almost a century and fits well with our ethic of moderation in all things. So let’s raise a glass to those old time temperance folks who banged their drums, marched in our streets and peered into restaurants to make things better for us all.
Flies strolling out of holes in the firewood.
It’s minus 22 C out. Frigid. My woodpile has been frozen under a heap of snow since the fall. So I bring in the day’s supply for the stove. I pick up a punky block and split it open with my little axe, ready to toss the pieces into the fire.
Before I can open the firebox door, I have flies buzzing about my head. Black, sleek vigorous flies as though on a summer day. Where have they come from in February?
Woodpile under latest snowfall.
To my amazement, I see them strolling nonchalantly out, fully functional and unfrozen, from holes in the wood I have just split open. Wood that has come in from months of sub zero ice and snow. They must be tough Canadian flies who laugh at blizzards and get high swilling antifreeze in their palatial wooden tunnels. Their home has gone into the stove now but I’m sure they will make themselves comfortable in the rafters until it’s time to dive bomb me in the spring.
Well, it’s deep into winter and about the time we all get a bit crazy. Evidence of this is all the nutty holidays scattered about the month by people trying to cheer themselves up. Now that Valentine’s day and Family Day have passed, we need not be without something to celebrate. Did you know that Feb. 20 is Cherry Pie Day in which patriotic Americans bake a scrumptious cherry pie in honour of George Washington who confessed he chopped down the cherry tree.
February also contains Hoodie-Hoo Day (Feb.20) in which the copoed up folks of the northern hemisphere step outside, wave their hands above their heads and chant “Hoodie-Hoo”.
How about Do a Grouch a Favour Day (Feb. 16) in which each of us sweetens up our local grouch with unexpected goodwill, treats and a helping hand. Love Your Pet Day (Feb. 20) happens every day for pet lovers but the dog might like to celebrate International Dog Biscuit Appreciation Day (Feb. 23). Polar Bear Day (Feb.27) might spur extremists to take the plunge in a polar bear dip.
My vote is for Public Sleeping day (Feb. 28) and No Brainer Day (Feb. 27) when you do something extremely simple or just fall asleep in public.
The very best way to wait for spring.
Coyote has squirmed under the barbed wire fence.
A walk in new snow in the country is like reading a newspaper. The tracks of every creature that has been out that day tell where they went and what they were doing.
Bird tracks are thick around plants that still have seeds. Rabbits have dashed at high speed across the open ground and congregated under the cedars. A mouse track ends abruptly where an owl wing has brushed the snow. Deer have been criss-crossing the icy beaver pond. A fox track runs for a couple of miles along the conveniently plowed edge of the road with brief detours into the brush when a car has passed.
Deer take off for the 12 foot leap across the same fence.
Coyotes, leaving alarmingly large paw prints, have been scouting along the back lane, stopping the sniff where the deer have passed. And, once again, they have vainly tried digging their way into the solidly frozen beaver lodge while the beaver inside just laugh.
Where the coyotes or wolves have been digging at the beaver lodge. Frozen hard as iron. No lunch here today.
Through it all are my own lumbering tracks, the human neither quiet, swift or agile. But going home with all the news.