When winter comes to the country, things slow down. In the city, a lot of effort and money are spent in overcoming the roadblocks the environment throws up. A fleet of plows and salters hit the roads with the smallest dusting of snow. If people slow down and drive slowly, getting groceries or a cup of coffee can be done without incident. But of course, people do not slow down; cars race around in snow just like they do in the summer, their drivers forgetting physics and that 4-wheel drive can slip on ice.
Our rural infrastructure is more limited. Side roads like ours are plowed less frequently than in the city. The town patrolman often waits until the end of a storm, particularly on weekends, to plow. This can lead to some consternation, wondering if we will ever be able to make it out of the driveway. The freezer and home-canned food seem all the more important on snowy days.
I for one enjoy the slow pace and stillness of winter. I always seem stuck in a whirlwind of activities, jumping from project to project. Winter offer a respite. There is still work to be done, and cold temperatures make that work challenging, but I like the stillness of the season. One morning, the vegetation was covered with long needles of hoarfrost, glinting in the filtered sunlight of the cloudy day. The dog bounded through the snow as we explored the plants and their frosted decorations.
One important winter task is keeping snow away from the entrance to our beehive. If the entrance becomes blocked, the bees cannot leave in warmer temperatures to make cleansing flights. More importantly, ventilation can become reduced and cause a buildup of moisture, which is often what causes winterkill. I noticed a buildup of ice behind the mouse guard during one trip to the hive, so returned to the house for a screwdriver and scraper. I removed the mouse guard and scraped the ice out from the hive. I was also able to fish out quite a few dead bees to further clear the entrance. I could hear the soft hum of bees deep in the hive as I worked, so I hoped there were still plenty of live bees as I re-attached the mouse guard.
The dog and I later walked out to the middle woods to look for antler sheds. The hayfield was a tapestry of animal tracks. We came across a set of mouse tracks that ended with the telltale imprint of wings from a hawk or owl. Seeing the trail of tiny tracks stop suddenly makes one stop and think about the path we follow and that it may stop at any time.
That afternoon, we used the downtime to make some hot soup. When we dropped Henry off at college a week ago, we took him to a Chinese restaurant for lunch. They served the best hot and sour soup as an appetizer. I found a recipe in an America's Test Kitchen cookbook. Among the ingredients was chicken stock and shiitake mushrooms. I remembered there was still a turkey carcass in the freezer from my mom, and we have plenty of dried mushrooms. We spend the day making stock from the turkey bones and vegetables in the freezer and pantry. The soup was terrific, and was a nice end to a cold day of slow work.
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