Late Season Snowstorm

 This is reminiscent of 1956. On this date (March 6) my brother was born and Mom remembers fondly getting him home; about three days later Miamisburg had a big snowstorm. "Dad took trash down to the back of the yard and Mrs. Weekly was there to help with Bob. There was snow everywhere," Mom said.

 That's a good description of now. When I went to bed last evening it was raining and I felt sure the heavy snow that was predicted had missed us, that the storm was spending itself out with rain before it got cold enough to snow. I went to bed at 9:15 pm.

 When I awoke at midnight I walked into the second floor bathroom, looked out the window and was astounded. The maple that's closest to the window was flocked with thick, heavy snow. I turned on my desk light (which flickered) and immediately drew a bucket of water in case the power went out. I walked downstairs to tell Mom about the storm.

 She crawled out of bed and hobbled to the south living room window. What a sight! All was quiet; all was buried in a deep blanket of white.

 I walked to the back door and turned on the garage light. This is what I saw.

This maple, nearest the kitchen, was festooned in thick white. It was snowing heavily. Later, when I got back into bed, the security webcam recorded the flakes falling (below).

 This morning all is a winter wonderland.

 This view is towards the northwest. Our pines are buried deep in snow and the branches hang low with the added weight.

 From a second floor window looking north, our woodpile is buried deep in snow. Luckily we do not use it much. It serves mostly as a back-up source of heat should our power be interrupted.

 While Mom did the breakfast dishes, this male cardinal visited the suet feeder hanging right outside the window. When the snow is deep, we've trained birds to be dependent on what we offer. Whether that's a good thing or not, I don't know.

 On our back porch, a close-up shot of a maple branch shows how deeply it is covered with snow. When the snow began, the branches were wet with the late-day rain and snow flakes stuck handily.

 This maple branch, outside the kitchen window, split with the added weight and is lying on the ground. Ah, more work when the snow melts.

 A view of the south side of Pinehaven (facing east) shows the maple by the bathroom window pressing up against the house. This is the tree I saw when I looked out the window at midnight. The heat pump's compressor is blasted with ice and snow, probably lowering its efficiency quite a bit. I'll go back out later and brush it off.

 Here's a view out our driveway, facing east towards S. Clayton Road. I suppose the car would run in the snow but there are plenty of low-hanging branches that will need to be moved (or cut) first. At the moment, we're trapped.

 A front view of Pinehaven might make a nice Christmas card next year. The two evergreens on either side of the fireplace chimney are pushed down by the weight of the snow. The one on the left, at the window where I normally sit, covers the glass. It's a bit startling to look up and see something standing there from inside.

 Will we have mail delivery? I doubt it. The mail box and the newspaper tube will probably go unused.

 From our driveway and looking southeast, another maple seems broken down by the added weight. The road, as you can see, has been mostly cleared of the snow. I heard a plow during the night and saw the flashing lights slide across my bedroom ceiling and walls and knew the necessary work was being done while I slept.

 Looking west along the driveway, yet another limb is down. Maples seem particularly frail when weight is added. There is much clean-up to do.

 Our DirecTV dish is so deep in snow that it won't work. I'll have to remember to go back out and brush it clear. It's almost hard to tell what it is.

 Looking up into a maple, it's a pretty sight ... but a deadly one if the weight breaks any more branches.

 First order of business this morning was to dig a path to my rain gauge and bring it in for a reading. The numbers are due at 8 a.m. and I take this job very seriously. I've been keeping daily weather statistics since April 1, 1974. I'm just a few weeks away from 39 years.

 The north side of our house, facing east, makes a pretty winter scene. It's hard to believe that two weeks from today, it'll be spring. Who'd guess that right now?

The Weather Swan

 Every child finds himself gravitating to items found at the homes of relatives. My grandfather would regularly walk across Cottage Avenue in Miamisburg to the home of my aunt's, Belle Hinkle. There I found a tuft of grass on her west lawn, nestled beside a few concrete steps and protected by the shade of a maple tree, to be one of those items. As soon as we arrived at Aunt Belle's house, I'd have to stoop down and feel the soft grass tickle my cheek.

 Inside the house she had other items that I cherished: my Uncle George's tobacco stand  (the poor man dead a few years before), still smelling of pungent tobacco; I would open that tiny door and take in sweet lungfuls of the sweet scent. It's a wonder I did not become a smoker.

 On the other side of her dining room was an old tube radio. It had large dials which swung in lazy circles, controlled by ivory knobs and had various cities around the world affixed on its face. It took whole minutes to come to life.

 But most important of all was a hand-blown glass weather swan. I would always walk to the stand where it sat, look at the water level in its neck and listen to my aunt's prognostication of what we might soon expect from the sky. My uncle kept weather records and I suppose the swan was as much his, a sort of crude barometer.

 When Aunt Belle died in 1962 (she was born about 1870, only missing the Civil War by half a decade), the weather swan was given to me. Here at Pinehaven it sits atop another aunt's desk.

My grandfather, Elwood M. Schmidt, smiles down from a 1942 calendar.

Aunt Belle's weather swan silently reports atmospheric pressure changes ... still.

 A couple of days ago Mom was going about her dusting when she mentioned to me that the swan needed a good cleaning and the water replaced. That's a project in itself: the water inside the delicate swan must be shaken out, drop by drop. Then vinegar must be introduced to remove any calcification where the water has evaporated and a lime deposit left inside the glass. Finally fresh water (this time distilled) must be somehow gotten into the swan, through an opening so small a hypodermic needle would be useful.
 It took a couple of days to complete the project. I found that cold distilled water could be sucked into the swan by warming its body in hot water, holding my finger over the mouth opening and then submerging it in cold distilled water. Eventually, though, it took a more forceful method to introduce enough water to be useful: an ear syringe with a little muscle power.
 While a little food coloring would make seeing the water level in the neck easier, I did not add any, thinking it would dye the leftover calcium. Besides, Aunt Belle always just used plain tap water.

 I remember checking the weather swan every time I visited. Every now and then, when the barometric pressure was extremely low, water would drip from the swan's mouth. Low pressure, of course, causes water to rise in the neck. During pleasant weather (high pressure), the water level recedes down the neck and back into the body.

 There's something to be said for so simple a weather instrument. There's nothing to break (but the glass swan itself). I see these for sale yet today, often in the $30 range, but I cherish this one. I suppose it dates to Victorian times. And while I doubt it has much monetary value - surely there were too many made - I value its connection with my aunt, gone now more than half a century; the link to my uncle, forever unseen; and the chain that binds me to my grandfather, who's genes still ebb and flow in my own chromosomes, steadier than the weather.

 And while none of those cherished people have survived, the swan still sits on the same glass base I saw as a child, water softly, silently sliding along that tiny glass neck, responding to mere air pressure, making the invisible seen.

Meet the Beatles (not)

 I remember walking into my grandparents dining room sometime in 1964 and both of them laughing a little sheepishly. When my grandmother moved out of the way, I saw my grandfather seated at their dining room table wearing a wig.

 My grandfather, you have to understand, was bald - or nearly so - for all the years I knew him. He wasn't a vain man and a wig was the last thing I'd have expected. Plus the wig wan't gray; it was black.

 Turns out he'd bought a Beatles wig - a cheap, fuzzy, furry thing - that had elastic around the edges. It was for a joke. If I remember correctly, he wore it to a meeting of the bank appraisers (Mutual Federal Savings and Loan in Miamisburg) where he worked part time.

 Anyway, joke out of the way, he gave me the wig. I immediately donned it.

 I would have been 15 at this time.

 I don't remember Grandpa taking the picture of me but he must have. And then he must have followed me up the alley to Andy's Super Valu where both Dad (William H. Schmidt, above, age 40) and Andy (Andrew J. Schmidt, below) must have taken turns trying the wig on. They were both ready for anything that hinted at fun.

 Can you imagine professional businessmen doing this today?
 Ah, those early days of the Beatles. Anything was possible.

Something from Nothing

 Many years ago - twenty to be sure - while I still worked at JCPenney and managed the furniture department, I'd bring home discontinued fabric samples for Mom. She'd work through the feast, picking out the fabrics that were best suited for braid rungs, separating the colors into like-minded piles and then cutting them into long strips.
 These were sewn and turned into braid rugs. I wrote about them in Pinehaven, as impressed then with the newer additions to our home as I am now by their bullet-proof longevity. These rugs have stood the test of time and countless feet.

 This one is Mom's favorite. It's also her largest, a full 39" in diameter. The early American colors compliment Pinehaven's decor. This rug is used in our dining room at the door to the enclosed south porch.
 I can still remember Mom cutting the fabric, ending up with strips that would be sewn into tubes, flattened and turned into braids. The rug eventually became unwieldy to work with, but still she continued.
 We have at least eight or nine rugs of this sort, some so small that they serve as mere seat cushions (we use one in the car), others on the floor before rocking chairs, still others in doorways.
 I know that these rugs will outlast us all. Everything made with love does.

How crazy is this?

 Who ever heard of spring flowers emerging in February? Let alone the first week of the month? In the Dayton area?
 Last year I had daffodils blooming on March 13. This year they're already above ground on February 7.

 A friend of mine has snow drops blooming in nearby West Carrollton. Another friend in Miamisburg also reports spring bulbs pushing through the cold soil. Though this month has been below normal so far, yesterday topped out at 54°. Something below 40° would be normal. January was 4.2° above normal here at Pinehaven.
 With yesterday's pleasant weather - sunny and calm - I walked a bit at the pond and found it still ice-covered but giving up its winter's ghost.

 As I walked along the shore, the ice looked rotten and made gurgling sounds. It was melting as I strolled nearby. It certainly would not have been safe to walk upon. The surface is mottled with the snow and the blue sky reflected nicely on the surface.

 A wider view shows the pond still frozen but unsafe. The white ice of winter is already the color of water. It may be February, but spring is in the air early.

Bagels!

 A week or so ago, a friend's wife posted a picture of a dozen bagels she made. They were perfect. I buy bagels every week from Meijer's. I've found them to be far better than any commercial bagel and better than many specialty shops. But, could we make them ourselves?
 Mom was game so a couple of days ago, while the wind blew snow squalls and made the day miserable,  we set out to make a batch. We cut the recipe in half. Six bagels will handle my needs for six weeks (I eat half a bagel at a time, twice a week).
 We've found King Arthur bread flour to be the best flower for our automatic bread maker and so we went to then to find their bagel recipe. It's what our friend used. Care to see the recipe? Click here

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As directed, Mom made a starter the night before. I'm not sure that's necessary, though. We mixed it with the rest of the ingredients and kneaded the dough until it was well-worked and elastic.

 I found the dough a bit sticky to handle well so added a bit of flour to my hands (and the pastry cloth). It feels like bread dough, of course. It is bread dough.
 The trick in making good bagels is the water bath, I think. This recipe calls for a little brown sugar in the water. I think an actual lye bath would improve the appearance but that step isn't called for in this recipe.
 How to manage the perfectly round shape, though? I suppose the dough balls could be flattened and cut out with a large biscuit cutter. The hole in the center might be made with a small cutter or even a deep bottle cap. In any case, our bagels are hardly round and as I handled them, placing them in the water bath, they elongated a bit. Our finished product has an unusual shape!

 Nevertheless, they taste pretty much like traditional bagels. We used our oven's broiler to add the extra browning to the top (the bottoms had browned on the cookie sheet).
 It's not a quick process, particularly if the starter is made the night before. There are several rises required for the dough. But, with time, the process will get ever-easier.
 Still, fresh bagels at Pinehaven. On a cold, winter's day, what could be finer than a bagel and a glass of beer?

Icing Continues

 Who could imagine that just two days ago we recorded a record high? On January 30 we peaked at 66°, a full 3° above the old record recorded in both 1916 and 1947. It was springtime at Pinehaven.
 This morning is another matter. Dan Miller, less than five miles north of me, recorded a low of 6°. We had 5° here. That's an unusual drop for this area, 61° in 48 hours.
 But with those cold temperatures, ice again formed on a few windows, partly owing to yesterday's snow squalls which added moisture to the  air.

 This lacy ice is on my south bedroom window. The sun has not yet risen and gives the sky a salmon glow in the background. Between half an inch and an inch of snow fell last evening, completing the winter scene.

 Is it any wonder that I need a space heater each morning in my second floor bathroom? Thankfully, the ice is on the outside of the window (or perhaps on the inside of the storm window) but it gives me chills just looking at it as I brush my teeth and then step into the shower.

 The east window at the top of our steps has found the ice leaning south, betraying a north wind overnight. The eastern horizon glows brightly but the sun has not risen yet. It is well before 8 am.
 Tomorrow more snow? The winter seemed slow in starting but it is certainly upon us now.