Winter Wonderland? by Mildred Grant

Waking early to discover nearly a foot of new snow on the ground seemed a wonderful way to start our Christmas vacation.

 “Let’s get our sleds out and go up past Uncle Will’s to just past the Bear’s Den Road and slide back down to the bridge,” Chester suggested.

Before Allen, Eleanor, or I could answer, Mom responded from the kitchen. Continue reading

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Seasons by Estelle Cade

A New Englander, born and bred as they say, I watch the gradual changing of the foliage from green to a myriad of wonderful colors, and while admiring them, begin to dread the season that follows – winter.

Picturesque – oh yes, I’ll admit to the beauty of our snowy days, with feathery, frosty flakes falling softly all around and to the glory of the glittering days following an ice storm, with every branch and wildflower stalk encased in a sheath of ice. When the sun comes out it is an amazing spectacle.

And then, so not picturesque – cars buried in snow drifts as the plows thunder past you; errands left undone because the driveway is not yet cleared and the snow blower today has “issues” or after the ice storm when the power is out for days and people are freezing and frightened.

Shall we speak also of the mundane matters of winter – bundling small children into their layers of winter gear and then stuffing them into uncooperative car seats; of bundling ourselves also into the tyranny of coat, hat, gloves, scarf and probably boots as well, for days on end. And for the many of us who do not have garages there is the unalloyed pleasure of having to go out after every storm and clean off the car.

Ah yes, winter – dark mornings and long dark nights – we all feel like moles after a while. Then suddenly – right around Valentine’s Day – and perhaps another huge snow storm, the sunset comes a few seconds later, a few small bird calls can be heard if you listen carefully enough; there is a lighter feeling to the air around us and the local farmers can be seen in the woods, tapping their maples for the sugaring season.

Spring is tiptoeing to our corner of the world and my disposition switches from Neutral to Positive. I try to avoid saying ‘I hate winter’   – so negative – but I have to admit that I do prefer the days of flowers and softer temperatures.

Here I go – time to put the snow shovel back in the car.

THE BLIZZARD OF 2013 by Lettice Randall

The snow had just begun to fall
This is New England after all
We Northerners are a sturdy lot
Afraid of snow storms we are not.
 
At least that’s what I used to feel
But media hype has become unreal
Stay off the roads we’re being told
We Yankees used to be so bold.
 
What happened to our braver days
Now we’re told to change our ways.
A little snow shouldn’t bother us.
We need to know, why all the fuss?
 
So here I sit and contemplate
Should I go out or should I wait.
Tomorrow is another day.
So I’ll stay in. What can I say?
.
.
.

A Sticky Leaves-Taking by Janice Lepore

John ran his fingers through his hair. The lengthy and “funny” story ended with the dog retrieving the stick of dynamite. The supposed-to-be experienced ice fishermen struggled to run in their heavy clothes and boots, whooping at the dog to drop the stick.
The confused dog obeyed and, obviously more intelligent than his master, beelined it for the shiny new red 4-wheel-drive vehicle parked on the ice, and jumped in. It was a skillful and heartfelt leave-taking.
Obviously, the ice fisherman who had been bragging about having the smartest dog on earth was right. The dog had hightailed it for safety. It was the dumb fisherman who now had a fish tale that he never wanted to tell.

Portrait—Untitled by Mildred Grant

            Glancing around the kitchen at the pile of breakfast dishes in the sink and the mound of laundry near the stove waiting for the water to heat, Helen was a bit envious as she watched her two oldest children go careening down the slope of the back lawn toward the stone wall that separated lawn from pasture in their make-shift vehicle. Nearly a foot of new snow had fallen overnight finally turning to rain in the early morning hours. Just before dawn the thermometer took a steep downward plunge Continue reading

Battle Horizon by Janet Keyes

 

 

In the snowless winter
an ambiguous horizon retreats tentatively,
as if unsure of its defining edge.
Nearby we view the sight
of brown hills striated with hundreds
of gray-black tree trunks, and thousands
of fine-line branches and twigs,
interspersed with jagged dark evergreen slashes.
Further away ridges roll out dull blue,
or purple at rosy dawn and dusk,
their details blurred and varying
with changing weather and light.
Still more distant hills arise
in pale blue permanence
uneasily nudged by temporary gray-blue impostors
whose faintly ragged edges
betray their true identity as clouds,
sky-soldiers advancing and retreating,
maneuvering through their missions
in an endless ground-sky fight
for horizon territory.

Winter Driving Lesson by Mildred Grant

Dad had bought Uncle George’s car—our very first car! Dad insisted that Mom learn to drive. Mom, all bundled up against the very snappy weather, sat in the driver’s seat, Dad coaching beside her. Mom followed all the commands—everything was going well, when Dad instructed Mom to shift into reverse, let off the brake and clutch, and step on the gas.

 “I said step on the gas, not stomp on it,” Dad yelled as the car winged straight back, missing the big Maple tree by inches, crossing the street, (no traffic, Thank You, Lord) and coming to rest atop a snow-covered embankment. Continue reading

Winter “Wonderland” by Mildred Grant

Waking early to discover nearly a foot of new snow on the ground seemed a wonderful way to start our Christmas vacation.

“Let’s get our sleds out and go up past Uncle Will’s to just past the Bear’s Den Road and slide back down to the bridge,” Chester suggested.

Before Allen, Eleanor, or I could answer, Mom responded from the kitchen.

“Not until you have all eaten your breaKfast and done your regular Saturday chores. The plows will have gone through by the time you have finished up here and that means brushing your teeth, too.”

Chester groaned, I rolled my eyes, Allen sighed, and Eleanor set her lips in a determined line. Continue reading