Fire and Ice

On Friday we had a lovely little Harman wood pellet stove installed.  What a joy!  It keeps the house toasty for much less than the cost of our noisy Propane heater, and there’s the fire to stare at as an added bonus.  The blower (even at full strength – which we rarely use) is much quieter than the old system. Coming into the living room which we’ve allowed to cool overnight, I crank up the thermostat and the blower. The couch across from the stove is warm by the time I get back with my coffee.  The stove is on the west facing wall of the living room, so it does shift my morning orientation from east (at the dining table) to west, and I have to remind myself to look over my shoulder now and then to see the progress of the sunrise.

But the morning view to the west is fascinating too. As the sun clears the horizon the treetops on the hill to the west, across Gulf Road, catch the first direct light and every detail of their branches stands out against the dark sky.  The light works its way down the hill as the sun rises. The snow covered roof of the house across the way shifts from blue-grey to blazing white as the light moves down from the rooftop to the eaves.  The light crosses Gulf road and makes its way to the frozen pond, where it spreads quickly across the flat surface.  (I know the red wing blackbirds are somewhere out near that frozen pond: I heard them there yesterday.)  The vertical wall of plowed snow on the far side of Gulf Road is a brilliant white band in full sunlight.  The west side of our own hill is still blue grey, sloping away from the sunrise.  But then the sun is high enough to light it, and the snow turns gold and white with deep blue shadows.  I can’t read – the light show is riveting.  The whole transformation of the landscape from predawn dark to full sunlight takes less than a hour.  It holds my attention the entire time.

Moving from window to window for different views I notice both the icicles still hanging from the eaves and those that have fallen and crashed into the snow below. At 10 degrees this morning, nothing is melting.  Some of the hanging icicles are milky white, but some are clear as glass.  The fallen fragments, their sharp edges gleaming in the light, make the snow around them look soft. A warm orange fire inside, and shining ice just the other side of the window.

Peter and Aviva are back from Panama, bringing even more warmth than the Harman stove. They took us to the pancake breakfast at Ben and Judy’s Sugar Shack, an annual tradition for them.  The syrup doesn’t meet the high bar set by Tamar’s Crown Maple, but the pancakes are great. One of the cooks keeps circulating among the tables with the latest pancake on his spatula – “who’s ready for another one?” Jay ate six – didn’t want to hurt the cook’s feelings. It’s a friendly and cheerful crowd, and the smell is heavenly. This is late winter upstate.  It’s still cold and snowy, but the snowbirds have returned from Panama and the little songbirds are joining the crows and owls who toughed out the winter. It’s light well into the evening, and even if we can’t feel it yet, we know that spring is coming.