Howling Wind

Got up early, to get some things done before trying to get to the museum, Knock down the stove-pipe, clean out ashes, vacuum the mess and a few corners. Then suit-up and bring in armloads of frozen wood, build two ricks near the stove; get a good fire going, and turn one of the electric radiators on low, so the wood will thaw. Grits and eggs for breakfast. On a two hour delay, finally slog down the hill, un-bury the truck and head off on bad roads, don't get halfway down Mackletree before it starts snowing again, hard and I just turn around and come right back home. The frozen wood was so cold it sucks the heat from the stove, I go back out and split some knots, split some dry sycamore for the firebox. The sheep-watering trough/bathtub is completely covered, mounded over in snow 12-14 inches deep. I have to change boots and pants because of the walk down and back up the driveway, curl up on the sofa, under a blanket, and read for a couple of hours. Early afternoon I make a pot of chili with beans. I started the pintos as soon as I got back home, cook a pound of ground lamb, caramelize two yellow onions, roast a red pepper and peel it, add all together, shred the last of the cooked loin into it, add a can of roasted tomatoes and some wonderful green chili powder sent by a friend. Excellent winter fare, with buttered saltines, I eat several bowls. If I'd made it in to work (which I will tomorrow) I never would have gotten the house warm this evening. The wind is awful and the wind-chills are below zero, finally get the house warm enough to shave and clean up by late afternoon. Go back out one more time, to split a couple more knots. When it's this cold, you can split the unsplittable. It's a brutal day, the qualities of mercy are slim. I'm very careful whenever I'm outside, moving with deliberate slowness, watching where every foot falls. I can hardly wait to get back to the museum and be truly warm for a change. I leave some shampoo and a towel there, so I can get in early and wash my hair. It's amazing what you take for granted. I'll need to work Saturday and Sunday, installing the new show, but that's a fair tradeoff, for the snow-days. The wind is howling across the ridge-top, the temps falling, the snow is drifting. There were, briefly, this morning, a couple of patches of sun, before the next round hit, when I still thought I could get to town; and when a gust of wind blew a layer of snow off the roof, the house was invisible in a cloud of glitter. It's still snowing, but they say it's going to stop. It surely must, eventually. Looks like a hell of a mud-season on the distant horizon. I'll enjoy some social interaction, getting back to installing art, thinking about things that aren't purely survival motivated. This is a good latitude, in that regard, for 12 or 14 weeks you might be uncomfortable, and a few weeks might be downright painful, but if you're careful, it's not a big deal. I'd better go, I'm suspect of these winds.