Early January- Sledding, A perfect snowy week

 A New Year! And here- in the PNW- we saw a lovely snow fall- picture perfect from the old days, disregarding for only a brief moment its relationship to global warming, and its affect on those that are homeless or heatless and having to face it much more directly- but I hope its not criminal to declare that there was much beauty in this particular snowfall, in this small valley.  Thick nightly flurries, and then cold but sunny days- something I have rarely seen since I was a kid here. That quiet layer of white over everything. Our neighbor had visitors from Vienna who were awestruck by the quaintness and beauty of our little town ( compared to Vienna??) - even by the beauty of my old beat up truck in the snow  (how American! they said). 

With some rooftop hives behind, the end of a sunny day

My blog is really to talk about bees and beekeeping here- but as its an "off" month, and what I'd said about winter beekeeping would be just repeating myself, I'm branching out. I'm checking hives, but also considering the New Year, and new possibilities, now that these past few years are behind, and we've learned COVID is likely here to stay and to deal with, and we're being primed for some sort of cultural civil war- and in a more personal arena, I think I made some progress toward a healthier and what some I know would call a more "authentic" - if that's the right word- life. Meaning: being happier about what I have, whom i am, being a beekeeper with an old truck and a flip phone, not liking the modern world or playing a part in it, but being content with what I have and the great people I know and love. No trips to France planned, no moving to Oregon or some out of the way place, just being here, surrounded by 10,000 old books and a ton of art supplies and tools and old guitars- and bee hives.  Plus- a new interest in cooking and learning about it- making a great herb garden, and just moving from 60 to 70 as easily and simply as I can.  Pretty great. I say that in part to convince myself it is- but I think it really is. 

The manse with snow- the three Katsuras I planted 25 years ago pretty much want to uplift my
foundation- but I'm OK with that (aka, I'll be gone when they do)\

For Christmas break, I more or less took a week off- worked 6 hour days, slept in, that sort of thing, from Christmas to the New Year. Self employed people sort of have to keep working- there's no paid break, no compensation, for not working- and I like to work, so I do. I worked, but took long walks, read, drew, and started getting my wood shop back in shape (next step is my art studio, long neglected).

But there was some drama, and some tragedy, which I do not want to make light of at all. The drama is dental- I busted out a front tooth,  and whistle when I say anything with an 'ess" at the beginning. This I don't mind- it doesn't hurt- just needs some repair next week when the snow lifts, and I can't be on zoom.

Three hives, waiting for Spring

However, and it tears me up to even write this, I learned yesterday that a dear long time friend, and a  cousin, I've know for years, suffered from a heat attack yesterday, and is now unconscious and intubated at a nearby hospital, , and its 50/50 if he will  survive. I've spent the day making calls and talking to docs and family (none of whom live here) and trying to figure out what needs doing. Its upsetting- one thinks about life with that person alive, and compare it to  life without ever seeing them or hearing them of having a visit- and it grips you- how your life will be diminished when they are gone. It's upsetting. Both to think how alone they must feel going through this, and also, how one feels in seeing how one's own life will shift when they are gone.

And also it's a reminder, how as one pushes past 60, as I am, that this will become more the pattern than the rarity. I'm thinking that I'm not going to do so well with any of it. But : steel myself,

my neighbor's house, where i have some hives, and the fantastic, though 
dangerous, icicles that formed. This happens when your gutters fall off!

Three nights ago a large crowd- 30- 40 people maybe- gathered to sled the hill where I live. Sort of like the old days when kids would gather each year to do this, and the cops would rope off the streets, and build a big bonfire at top. Cops don't know how to do that anymore, so it was just people.

...who gathered not by telepathy of course, but by Facebook. This is something alien to me- I know nothing about it (I have an account which I cannot access and haven't seen since FB began).  But at one point there were three people out there- and I said hi (and said to them: years ago, this street was packed with kids- its an awesome sled street), and then there were 30- within minutes- and they kept showing up til there was a real crowd.

 

Spreader event? Or sledder event?

I rushed into my house and made as big a pot of hot chocolate as I could when I saw the kids out there, and laid out a tray of tiny cups, and went back out to share- it was all nicely appreciated, and a very fun thing to see. Which is why- despite not knowing a single person I saw (all new folks to the valley), I still want to be here- not move far away to a east of the mountains desert, or near a burning forest, in the Methow, or even a small French town where one is never a part of anything, forever a tourist- it makes sense here. I like these new people- they like hot chocolate. We all like a snowy evening on a sled hill. Something to be thankful for in these times.

Looking up 

Raccoon?

The other sort of bee that needs to survive- though looking at this photo, I 
see that there is only one filled cell. These old style hives don't really
work so well as the years progress- there are better methods.

Its my opinion that a white house is one of the best sort of American rural
houses- and one in the snow is all the better for it. I can't explain why this 
works for me. Painting my house any color at all, or "accenting" the trim by painting it, 
would destroy the whole point. 

And for my dear cousin Brooke, in the hospital and alone, here's the Buddha in snow, on a 
big rock, which has a single Hawthorne tree growing from the heart of the rock- and which never
seems to give up, year after year. Perseverance, though with a little watering from friends that care.