This winter has been blessed, or cursed, with an abundance of snowfall. This morning we woke to our fifth measurable snow since December 1, and this was far and away the prettiest snow in a long time. The snow started to fall last night, huge fluffy flakes that went “splat” on the ground when they hit. In no time, the ground was white and the trees and shrubs wore a plush white coat.
The dogs and I made our first trip to the barn through fairyland. The trees curtsied beneath the heavy load and every twig and every branch held a coating of wet snow. The horses snorted and capered in an unfamiliar landscape – even the gate with its white coating was something to be feared. The cats watched from their perch in the hayloft and the dogs chased rabbit tracks and sniffed for possums and groundhogs under the barn.
I walked past the tool shed, down to the big elm tree, marked with initials from a hundred years ago, taking pictures as I went. The old log cabin, built by my great great grandfather before the Civil War, was shrouded in drifts of white, and everything familiar looks somehow unfamiliar.
Phoebe spent the hour chasing smells and tracks, while Tess, a less adventuresome soul, paced beside me. I could read her mind. “Isn’t it time to go back to the house yet?” she seemed to be saying.
Winter has a strange effect on me. It makes me want to cook. Most of the time, cooking is way on the bottom of my list of things to do, but let winter winds blow and I pull out the recipe books. My chili is almost foolproof, and I have several dishes I can make well. My experiments sometimes go awry, however, and more than once the dogs and cats have lucked into an extra meal because of the failures. I have never been able to make a decent biscuit. No matter what I do, they come out flat and rock-like. I can’t fry chicken either, no matter what instructions I follow. The chicken winds up naked in the pan. One time I got the idea (no doubt from reading some book set in New England) of making “from scratch” baked beans. It took three days. I soaked navy beans, cooked and cooked and cooked them, seasoned them and ended up with Van Camp’s pork and beans! It was one of my great disappointments. Another failure involved a rolling pin and cookies. I seem to remember that after the dough wrapped all around the rolling pin, I just pitched the whole project in the trash. Probably my most spectacular failure were the waffles. Suffice it to say, the waffle iron ended up in the trash can too, covered with baked on waffle batter. Even the dogs couldn’t salvage that mess. I probably need to stick with chili.
