Mulling things on my morning ramble with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
Every winter has its ups and winter in weather. But this one is reaching epic swings.
The ice was almost gone from the town pond. A small patch hung on in the southwest corner of the north old clay pit. The south half of the south pit had a decent cap of ice, which had survived the rain and warmth, and the shorelines had refrozen there.
Even in the dark, the remaining cap was easily seen on the photo above.
Everything else the wind had kept wide open.
By tomorrow morning, the south end of the south pit should be walkable again. There are two oddities there.
One, that will make the third time this winter that the ice on the town pond has frozen or refrozen enough to walk on. I don't remember a winter with that many swings on walkable ice.
Second, the town pond illustrates why this winter has been so risky for ice fishermen and others who walk on frozen water.
While I am sure the meathead and I will be able walk on the south end of the south pit, I would almost bet that at least some of the neckdown between the two pits or some of the north pit will be kept open by the wind.
I am both fascinated by this winter, and somewhat appalled, by the possibility that the swings could be part of a bigger picture on weather.
We had more snow showers or flurries overnight. There was enough to whiten the ground.
The wind was blowing so hard from the west that the flags atop the fire station were straight out. And I was glad for all four layers.
Tomorrow morning, I may have to pull on the Carhartt coveralls for the ramble.
The Canada geese had the lake to the west nearly completely open yesterday. They were raising a ruckus again this morning, one easily heard on the strong west winds. A pair found the open water on the north pit.
Back in town, the bank clock flashed 22 degrees. Another small flurry tossed fresh flakes on the wind.
It was time.
Near home, the meathead surged against the leash. I expected to come out of my reverie to see a cat sprinting off. No, it was three gray squirrels chasing each other around our neighbor's old battered elm.
Now, we are close to or in the first mating season for squirrels, but that strikes me as a bit kinky. Maybe that is me.
Hot Time in the Old Elm. I do amuse myself.
My thermometer had 17 degrees, and dropping.