Fetching wood

I left the cabin for the first time since arriving on Sunday. Yup, I made it all the way to the shed to fetch wood. Aaron got home a little early from work today, so it wasn't dark yet. I handed Walker over; threw on boots, hat, gloves, and coat; and pranced outside. The door which leads to the shed has a ramp instead of stairs, we were told it was so the previous owners could wheelbarrow loads of wood right into the house. We also were told, all that wood wasn't enough to get the place warm. I think the most recent owner did some weatherizing, because we don't need wheelbarrows of wood, even though it was windy and down to 9 degrees the other night. And it's a good thing, too, since we don't have a wheelbarrow. I'm hauling wood with a canvas strip affixed with two leather handles.

The snow, powdery and wind blown, looks like sand:

As the light first started fading, it seemed the snow had absorbed it, everything else was receding while the snow glowed bone white. The upper sky was dark blue, with a few large stars, but down below, behind the black branches of the trees, the sky was a pink so delicate it was just shy of white. As the darkness settled in, the snow turned silver, except where the yellow light from our propane lanterns turned it gold. I went back and forth from the shed to the house thinking of my grandfather who died three-and-a-half years ago. Although both my grandparents and my parents heated with wood stoves, it is my grandfather I think of hauling wood. In part this is because I spent more time helping him with wood chores than I did my father. But also, because, micromanager that he was, he was there with me most of the time.

In particular, I remember his hands, in their worn, but stiff, gray work gloves, handling the wood in his fumbley, careful way. The older he got, the fumblier, but never clumsy. We would load his red wheelbarrow and transfer wood from where we had just been sawing it up to the wood pile or from the wood pile to the iron storage hoop on the front porch. And I think of him as I am learning the care and feeding of our stove. The white gravel that surrounded my grandparents stove would crunch when he went down on one knee to tend to the fire. After opening the stove door, he would pause to survey the scene before picking a piece of wood. And then pause again before poking around with the andiron and finally putting the wood in. Despite all this deliberation, he was a ham, not a serious sort.  His humor was whimsical, at times, cornball, and always kind. His wheelbarrow is waiting for me in Vermont. As soon as we can figure out transport, we will bring it here to join his saws, wrenches, and screwdrivers. I'm so glad I have these things, even though they make me miss him even more.

Digging out

As the top half of the Eastern Seaboard digs out from the recent blizzard, I started digging out from our recent move. The boxes have collected in drifts along the walls, on furniture, under the stairs.  Since we are planning to work on the cabin this summer, the goal is to unpack as little as possible. My hope is that after consigning a lot of stuff to deep storage, I'll be able to let go of it once and for all next Fall. It's a pretty thought, anyway. We have so much stuff it's making the cabin feel smaller than it did this summer.

Today was my first day solo in the cabin with the kids and without a car. It went pretty well for all of us. Forest was excited about his new paints and about being reunited with his playdough, so he never even mentioned going outside. Walker got a huge kick out of my fly killing sprees. (Sad to say, we have a fly problem.

) And with all the unpacking, it's just as well we couldn't get to the grocery store. No ingredients means no cooking, which is a real time-saver.

I am new to heating with wood, but it seems we are going through wood awfully fast. It is tough to burn less when the thermometer in the kitchen reads 58 and the one in the bathroom reads 42.  Thank goodness the kids don't seem to be bothered by the cold, and I only notice it when I sit for any length of time, i.e., mealtimes. Of course I'm sitting now when everyone is asleep and I have a moment to write, but, happily, the desk is right by the stove, so I am quite warm. I know from the thermometer next to me that it is 65 degrees over here and with the way I am dressed (two sweaters, leg warmers) that feels downright balmy. I just hope I'm not downright balmy for moving here.

Homecoming

So, after considering all manner of second car options, Aaron and I decided to go with Plan A: buy a used Subaru Outback or Forester.  Both have very high clearance and four-wheel drive.  After finally making a decision, we learned 'tisn't the season to buy a used car. But after reuniting for Christmas--we were apart more than four weeks--we decided not to part again, second car be damned.  After an easy drive yesterday, we arrived before the snow, as the sun was setting.  It was 25 degrees in the cabin.  When we went to bed 2-and-a-half hours later, it was in the 40s.  Changing Forest for bed, I was startled to see his bottom steaming.  He is too young for me to make jokes about him having smoking buns, but that is what it looked like, literally.  Brrr!

If we'd stayed in New York, we would have woken to twice as much snow as we did here.  But if we'd stayed in New York, I wouldn't have enjoyed this sight:

This is Aaron with the David Bradley walk behind tractor plowing our driveway.

Walker's crying.  More soon.

Living in limbo

As feared, our stay here at my parents is turning out to be the extended re-mix 12" version, not the 45. The hold up is needing a second vehicle. If I go to Maine without one, the kids and I will be pretty much stuck at the cabin whenever Aaron goes to work, i.e., for 10 hours a day, five days a week. Yes, we can take walks in the woods. Yes, we have two neighbors we could visit. But that would be it. No food shopping, no library, no errands. As much as I miss Aaron, that scenario that puts me in mind of The Shining. Meanwhile, a car (or truck?) purchase is not something to rush into. There are many variables to examine and ponder--and that bump up against each other. Forest's vote is for a purple car.  Aaron and I are flexible on color.  We just want something that can handle our road and that is reliable, oh yeah, and that we can afford.  Thoughts?  Advice?

Reanimator baby

Nap time is a horror show these days. Walker has a cold, broke his first tooth on Tues with a second about to break through, and hasn't pooped since Monday. Despite these trying conditions he remains fairly cheerful. He just can't sleep very well. It takes ages to get him to sleep, and, like every proper monster, he reanimates only when you have fully let your guard down, convinced the battle is won. Then there is the alien afterbirth goo that is constantly flowing from his nose. When I see how much comes out of his nose after some of his sneezes, I am glad they have determined that brain size doesn't correlate with brain capability. Nasal cavities that large, can't allow enough room for a normal sized brain. But really beyond the goo and the reanimation, the monster analogy breaks down. Monsters in movies are never appeased with cooing and a few cuddles. Nor are they irresistibly cute, waving every time they hear the word "bye" with a big grin and a full arm wave so gleeful and enthusiastic the whole torso is in on the act. But, nevertheless, please let this cold be brief.

Shout out for fossil fuels

Happy Thanksgiving! Any holiday that centers around food and giving thanks is tops with me. I am, of course, very thankful for all the usual hackneyed stuff that we all are, and that if I think about for any amount of time gets me watery-eyed. There is that. Thank you.

Then there is the stuff I don't traditionally ponder on Turkey Day, because I'm not usually on the verge of moving off-the-grid. It paradoxical, but logical, that as my carbon footprint is about to shrink, I am ever more grateful for fossil fuels. Despite myself. It is so much more comfortable to decry the profligate use of oil and coal here in the United States. The oil spill this summer and the decapitation of mountains, to name two obvious examples, are so upsetting to me, I avoid relevant news stories. But, man oh man, life is good with all that extra help.

Today, I am grateful for the coal that is burning so I can have electricity to power the baby monitor that allows me to write without freezing at each stray noise, the sound machine that allows my toddler to frolic without waking his younger brother, and the dishwasher that makes cleaning while under the influence of tryptophan ever so much quicker and easier. And I am grateful for the oil that is burning to keep my parents house comfortably warm, that afforded me a hot shower this morning, and, most especially, that was processed into the gasoline that enabled Aaron to come from Maine to be with us and enabled some dear friends to zip over from the next town for a visit earlier today. It almost feels silly to write about these things, they are so mundane and so easy to take for granted. But what a different Thanksgiving this would be without all this and if we had to make dinner in a wood cook stove, heat with wood, eat without electric lights, and clean up afterward in the semi-dark, heating our water along the way. (And just to be clear, I am not giving up all of these things in our cabin. So, thank you also for propane!)

Does anything stand out for you this particular Thanksgiving?

New York really is a helluva town

The morning of my departure from NYC, I had a rare and unexpected chance to listen to my ipod. (Child-free for a few hours!) As per usual, I listened to a podcast of Fresh Air. Terry Gross was interviewing Jay-Z, an artist I've heard of, but barely heard. The show ended with "Empire State of Mind." And that was that. I spent the rest of the day swimming in nostalgia. It had slipped my mind for the past decade or so, what a cultural center I live in. New York City is not chopped liver. For months, I've been mourning leaving my friends. But I thought I'd leave New York itself with no more than a big sigh of relief to have blown that ginormous popcorn stand. Not so. (And, really, I have to ask, what are the odds? Jay-Z on Fresh Air?)

Then, to top it all off, it was a knock-out of a day. The buildings of Manhattan, in vista, can evoke magnificent cliffs: solid, immovable, majestic, static. All the action is buried down at the bottom of the canyons along endless miles of streets and avenues. But given the right weather conditions, The City itself comes alive and is so beautiful any crust of jade you may have grown cracks right off. The sky was crowded with iron-blue bottomed clouds, almost overcast. But there was enough cheerful blue showing here and there to reveal the white fluff tops of the clouds and let the sun in. The clouds were moving fast across the sky, and that wind was hitting us down below, also, freeing Fall leaves from their restless branches.

The heart of the drama, however, was the light. Sun and shadow flowing over us all, as if the gods were saying, "You put on all your little plays, film your little films and tv shows, you want to see lighting? We'll show you lighting." A divine spotlight: Look here, now here, and now check this out. The Williamsburg Savings Bank glowing creamy, yellow-white against a matte background of variegated ominous blue clouds, not a speck of sky blue peeking through to mar the effect. Then the Willie B Savings Bank fades into shadow, blending in with all the other cliffs. And a flock of pigeons, flying their spirals, white patches flashing, gray feathers gleaming, is all there is to look at. Already the spotlight has moved on and a tree glows bright against the flat underbellies of the clouds, the golden yellow a perfect compliment to the stormy blue.

I ended up so mushy about it all, I posted an uncharacteristically emotional status up-date on Facebook, which triggered further weeping. "Good bye, New York. I love you." No jade, just a heartfelt farewell. Then we drove to get Forest at school and got on the BQE an exit earlier than usual, which brought us past the Statue of Liberty and an excellent view of the southern tip of Manhattan. I sat squeezed between two car seats veritably steeping in nostalgia until we hit stop-and-go traffic over Williamsburg. Doing the creep-crawl out of The City, yet again, had me cheering in short order. We're finally blowing this popcorn stand. Hot diggity dog!