The part of our community where beauty (the state park) meets the beast (industry). That big fluffy smoke has reared its head here through all four seasons since I was a child and probably many years prior to that. It makes for some interesting texture in a photo, especially on a very brisk winter’s day–but it is the uglier side of the city, visible from the north pier off the bay of Lake Erie. One doesn’t stand on the pier for too long in the winter, unless one is a glutton for frostbite. A few quick photos, and its back to the vehicle. In summer, this pier is filled with fishermen and fisherwomen, and this part of the bay has quite a bit of boat traffic. It is one of my favorite areas to run in the other three seasons, ending with a neat little lighthouse at the end.
Looking out from my studio window this weekend, life seemed frozen in time. Crisp, cold. The kind of weather that freezes your nostrils, dares you to breathe while outdoors.
I can say this much: if nothing else, weather like this demands you slow down. There’s something to be said for this. Personally, I said “nap”. And my body agreed, sighing with the realization these opportunities, these mandated work stoppages, don’t come often in adulthood.
When given the opportunity, when the question is posed, “What’s to do on a bitter, cold January day?”, I have an answer. Stop. Take a moment to stop and smell the snowflakes. And then get your behind in side!
Happy Tuesday, all.
I must confess, I am recycling some of the photos I have taken in the last few years, those left on the digital cutting room floor. I’m giving them a second glance, partly because life is a little hectic right now and I’ve had little time to go out and shoot for the fun of it–plus, it is buck-a$$ cold. So tonight, I sit in front of a blazing fire, playing with photos I missed the first time around while my greyhound sleeps next to me and my other furbaby…well, she is tearing up a paper towel on the floor beneath us for reasons known only to her….
There are times I look out the kitchen window and see four or five of these large fox squirrels. I go through quite a bit of sunflower seed and, I assure you, fur and feathered customers rival one another in amounts of seeds consumed. Doesn’t matter to me. Squirrels have to eat, too–and then there are the crows, feeding first thing in the morning on the cup of peanuts I throw out for them (yes, I feed them on purpose) by the pond. A family of four (was three last year)–one acts as a sentinel while the other three take turns scoring the peanuts. If I haven’t put peanuts out by daybreak, they are cawing my name at the top of their lungs until they shame me into providing breakfast.
Its a squirrelly place, this life in the country. But I totally love it.
On the shores of Lake Erie’s bay sit a small grouping of cottages, two rows deep, inhabited in warmer months by those with a fondness for all things Lake Erie. Like many of us who live abreast the shores of a great lake, we wind down the late fall, preparing our homes and hearts for the slower, colder pace of our winter. Winter is not optional here. There’s no getting around it, no “mild winters” ahead for this area. Lake effect snow and wind chills are a fact of life, part of every native’s vocabulary in these parts.
No complaints here. I do tire of winter come April–but now, in this latter part of autumn, I embrace stacking wood (my chore of the day), lighting a fire, watching the trees glow with the brightened feathers of our cardinals feeding on sunflower seed treats. I love the smell of the pine-scented candle and welcome the stringing of holiday lights upon my white picket fence (chore #2 of the day). Curtains pulled early, stew steaming on the stove, cats and dogs curled up for the evening, I am ready. I am hunkered down.