good storm syndrome

Flying in the face of ‘best judgment’ decisions, the ‘I love
a good storm’ syndrome won out over all sensibility. Bring it on, the Nor’easter is coming. Originally, the forecasters were using terms
like ‘measured in feet, not inches’. Now, that my decision has been made, appointments changed, all that
stuff… it’s looking more and more like it’ll be under the one foot line. We’ll see. The last row of firewood stored on the porch has been hit hard. This morning is last good weather window for
reloading. Oh, my back… The thought of sitting at my wheel, in front
of the glass doors, watching it snow and snow and snow, hmmmm… But, that’s not today. Today is for business, all day. It’s billing day, just like Monday mornings
come faster and faster; billing day marks another month racing past, flip that
page over on the calendar. The local
weather guy remarked this morning that it is the meteorological (there’s a word
to wrap your tongue around) first day of spring. What the heck is that? The signs this year are everywhere. A woman I know told me yesterday that for the
past couple weeks she has dreamed either of her job or of goldfinches. Goldfinches?? She’s not the first to mention them to me recently. My father emailed that in western PA they are
turning yellow. Surprise, they are doing
the same here, too! I still have them by
the hundred at the feeders. There must
be a sign in that, huh?

My time in the woods, on snow shoes, has increased each
day. I’m covering parts of the farm that
are too hard to walk through during the bare months. The northern woods are in terrible
shape. It’s hard to pick a path over all
the downed trees. This time of year, I
can walk over the tops, on the snow. But
the area I covered yesterday was so bad that it looked like someone had tossed
the trees around, giant pick-up sticks, piled so high that I couldn’t go over
them, even with all the snow. Woods like
that make it hard for the deer. They
can’t live there, they can’t walk there. I found some wonderful holes, snow caves, dug out by somebody making a
winter home. Tracks are everywhere. There isn’t anything like the woods in the
winter.

The beaded shawl is progressing nicely. I will have enough yarn to make it as long as
I want it. I’m hoping that it will block
wider than it’s looking. I’d really like
it to BE a shawl, not just stretch to one.

Knitting has taken to the back burner the past couple days. I’m spinning. I plied and washed another skein of Massam yesterday. When I took it outside and whipped it around
my head, it froze solid… hard! I worried
that I actually could felt it, while spinning the water out so I came back
inside and hung it to drip dry from the stove.

In preparation for today, I weighed out more Massam into 4
oz balls of roving. Then, I discovered,
in one of my stash bags, absolutely beautiful mohair/ wool roving that I had
hidden carefully packed away. The Massam
will wait, I’ve GOT to play with it, what weight, plied or not, all the fun
stuff.

  merino / silk ready to spin

I sidetracked from the book I was wading through and picked
up the new Jimmy Buffet, ‘A Salty Piece of Land’, at the library. When it’s -10 outside, island hopping with
Tully is the next best thing, almost.