January has been brutally cold. So I was shocked when I pulled onto a nearby street and saw 20 robins, fluffed up, sitting in the sun on a recent morning when the temperature was 11 below zero, "fly south little birds, " I said as much to myself as to the birds.
This is our first January in northern climes in four years and I've enjoyed it less than I anticipated.
I love winter. I like the novelty of this season.
I enjoy cross country skiing in the winter woods, the tingle of my skin in the cold, invigorating air filling my lungs, how quiet the outdoors seems, the crunch and squeak of snow under my feet.
I like imagining, on a cold winter's night, that I can see deep, deep into the Milk Way, touching, with my eyes, places that are billions of years old.
I like sitting by the fire with a warm cup of tea in my hand and a good book on my lap.
I like winter soup dinners with friends, university choral and symphony concerts, stamping my feet when I come in from outside and feeling the warm air rush into my lungs.
I like the intricate lace patterns ice makes on windows.
I like building snowmen and baking cookies.
So I found it hard to think about heading south to beaches and sun, bathing suits and suntan lotion.
But this January the snow is frozen solid like concrete. There is no skiing, no snowmen, and the air isn't chilled, but freezing and searing as you take it into your lungs; water pipes burst and car batteries die, I've loved it less.
The robins and I both got fooled by that unusually mild December, when the temperatures hovered in the 50's and central casting rolled out 10 plus inches of snow on Christmas Eve, in the mildest, most gentle snow fall.
I started looking for robins after that first sighting and realized they are everywhere this year! There's a flock of 40 or so living at the estate up the street. A Google search shows robin migration patterns do vary by year. They use no more energy than necessary, traveling only as far south as needed to find food.
This year the crab apple crop was abundant and is still plentiful on the trees and so we've been blessed with the robins' company through the first part of winter. If the food runs out, they will move south.
I'm not waiting for the food to run out, my bags are packed
and I'm ready to find some sun and warmth. But before we go, forecasters are predicting our first winter blizzard. I'm so delighted to be here for this blizzard. The raw energy of mother nature unleashed while I sit in front of my cozy fire delights me.
Growing up in the 60's and 70's on a farm, we had awesome blizzards that cut power for several days, up to a week. We depended on electricity at our home to run the furnace, but my grandparents still had what they called the "stove" a kerosene heater that sat in one corner of the living room providing heat for the whole house. Our parents dropped us off at Grandma's and went to stay in town so they could get to work. It was a blizzard holiday with lots of reading and sledding, baking and story-telling. Grandma and Grandpa played the piano and banjo, singing folk songs as we danced around. No cabin fever at Grandma's.
Grandma made blizzard toast and hot chocolate as a special blizzard treat.
In anticipation of next week's blizzard, here's the recipe for Blizzard Toast:
Toast bread.
Butter toasted bread.
Sprinkle about 1/2 tsp of sugar over top.
Sprinkle cinnamon to taste.
Eat
Enjoy the blizzard and take care of each other until next week.
