Molasses in January

I usually look at the news several times a day. I know that some people advise against paying too much attention to the news. They argue that, because there isn’t much or anything you can do about what’s going on, why pay attention to any of it? Others tell me that the news is all tainted and biased and a lot of it fake and meant to manipulate the masses, so why pay it any heed? I can understand those arguments, but I still do it. I have several news sites that I trust somewhat and I check in with them every morning and at night and sometimes in between. I like to feel like I’m informed about what is going on in the nation and the world, even if I can’t do much about any of it. The scriptures instruct us that we should be “instructed more perfectly in . . . things which have been (history), things which are (current events), things which must shortly come to pass (revelation); things which are at home (domestic issues), things which are abroad (international issues); the wars and the perplexities of the nations (political science), and the judgments which are on the land; and a knowledge also of countries and of kingdoms.” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:78-79)

Last year was a year for witnessing the perplexities of our nation. With the COVID hysteria and the national election, all the anger and unrest in our nation, I have felt a growing concern for our freedom. I kept hoping and praying that things would be resolved constitutionally and righteously, but at every turn my hope began to fade. I was glued to the news last week. Tuesday and Wednesday were momentous days in the history of our nation whose repercussions will be felt for years to come. I’m still trying to process and understand what those events will mean for our country, for me, my children, my grandchildren, and my church. I’m trying, by using the scriptures and the words of latter-day prophets, to understand why things are moving in the direction they are.

I’ve always felt somewhat secure because of the remoteness of this place where I live. Gold is far removed from the centers of power, commerce, population, and commotion. I have a house and a little piece of land. I have gardens, an orchard, and animals that help me feel somewhat self-sufficient. I know most of my neighbors and they are good and honorable people. Life here is quiet and orderly most of the time. But I am not deceived into thinking that the turmoil of the world, the perplexities of nations, the actions and policies of the government cannot reach me here. It might just take a little longer to get here. Meanwhile, I will try to prepare in every way I can, physically and spiritually. The scriptures tell us that “if ye are prepared, ye shall not fear.” I have faith that ultimately righteousness will prevail and Christ will triumph.

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In January.

The orchard.

Now to return from the vast and complicated world to the little world I love here —

January is the month of the Post-Holiday Doldrums for me. There isn’t much going on to redeem it. There is no major holiday to celebrate with food or decorations. Winter grows more intense, limiting my few outdoor activities like my morning walks. In January, time seems to slow down. After the excitement of the holidays when time seemed to fly by, January seems to slow to a crawl. We use the old idiom that things are “as slow as molasses in January.” In this old house the kitchen gets pretty chilly in cold weather (unless we’re baking – we encourage baking). We joke about how the only time room temperature butter is soft enough to spread at our house is in June, July, and August. Honey and molasses also become pretty viscous during the winter. Molasses really is slow in January. I love molasses. The word molasses comes from the Portuguese word melaço, from the Late Latin mellaceus meaning “resembling honey,” from the Latin mel which is derived from the Proto Indo-European root melit – “honey”. The English call it “treacle” from the Old French word triacle, which means “antidote.” They began using it to refer to molasses in the 1690s because of its use as a laxative, and to disguise the bad taste of medicine. That makes me think of Mrs. Squeers in Dickens’ Nicholas Nickleby, forcing spoonfuls of treacle down the throats of the poor boys at Dotheboys Hall to “physick” them. When I was a child, my mother, as a treat, would sometimes stir a spoonful of molasses in a glass of milk for us. I think now that she used blackstrap and that she might have actually been physicking us. No matter, we drank it and liked it. I will admit, I prefer the milder type of molasses over blackstrap, but blackstrap is actually amazing stuff. It is made from the third boiling of sugar cane and contains vitamins and minerals like iron, calcium, magnesium, selenium, copper, B vitamins, particularly B6, and antioxidants.

Molasses.

Mrs. Squeers administering treacle.

January is the month when I have to shift my focus to things far away in time and place to keep from going stir crazy. I rely on books to distract me with mental trips back in time through history, or to distant places like Italy or Mars, or places that never existed at all like Middle Earth. I also use music to energize me. I like to pick a composer and go on musical binges, listening to every thing I can find by them. My tastes can range to anything from Bach to Cole Porter. Last week it was Mozart’s Piano Concertos. I started with No. 1 in F, K. 37 (written in 1767 when he was 11) and listened all the way to No. 27 in B flat major, K. 595 (written in 1791 when he was 34 and nearing the end of his life). The later piano concertos from No. 14 to 27 are some of my most loved classical works. Glorious music to lift my spirits.

And then there are the seed catalogs. They started arriving in the mail back in November, but January is when they come in a deluge. I love finding them in the mailbox. I devour them – the pictures, the words. They fire my dreams of the gardens that will grow in the seasons ahead. Seasons that seem achingly distant in January.

I love to photograph the things around me. Every week I try to include in this Journal pictures of the things I see and do here. But in January things get a little stale. One photo of snow looks pretty much like another. Other than the occasional pretty sunrise or sunset, there isn’t much in the way of dramatic color outdoors. There are the birds, the liveliest subject these days, but my camera doesn’t take very good photographs of birds. My cousin Rick out in Utah takes amazing photographs of birds. My photos are so poor by comparison. I wish I could capture images of those beautiful creatures that brighten these dull, cold days for me. All day long my feeders are thronged with mourning doves, chickadees, blue jays, gold finches, woodpeckers, nuthatches, titmice, house finches, juncos, and occasionally, evening grosbeaks and redpolls. Birds delight me.

 

Hairy woodpecker.

Red-breasted woodpecker.

On Tuesday when I went down in the afternoon to do the chores, I looked across the road at the beaver pond and was thrilled to see a bald eagle perched on a post at the edge of the pond. We’ve seen it often the past few weeks flying around Gold. I ran back to the house and grabbed my camera. I didn’t want to scare it away, so I wasn’t able to get too close to it, but I did get some adequate pictures of it. I hope it finds a mate and settles here. They are such beautiful birds.

 

The eagle from afar.

A little closer.

Perhaps it was just the onset of the Doldrums, but I think I’m becoming more and more sentimental as I grow older. I’ve always been a softie when it comes to a sad book, movie, or song. That’s nothing new. But now things trigger my tears that would not have done so once. Monday was one of those days for me. It started with the Thayns. They intended to leave here on Sunday afternoon. In fact, they did leave, but they only made it as far as Austin, 25 miles away, when they turned around and came back. The weather was bad and the roads were terrible. That meant we got to spend an extra evening with them, which was nice. They left for home again on Monday morning and this time they made it. I was sad to see them go. But then things got worse. At noon Josiah left. Miriam drove him to the Buffalo Airport to send him back to school in Idaho. With Miriam gone for a few hours and Stacey and Hannah at work, I was home alone in a silent house that a few hours before had been full of people, noise , and energy. I did what I always do when that happens – I cleaned the house. That kept me occupied for a few hours.

But as I was cleaning, I went upstairs and into Josiah’s room – and fell apart. He’s been away from home more than he’s been here the past few years so you’d think I’d be used to it by now, but I’m not. I don’t know if it’s because he’s the youngest of our children, but for whatever reason, I feel it keenly when he leaves home. Perhaps this time was worse because I don’t know when he‘ll be coming home again. He’s hoping to get an internship or find a job in the spring and that means he won’t be coming home between semesters. I have a feeling that this is how things will be from now on and it makes me sad.

Then that afternoon, when I went down to the barn to do the chores, I saw Mabel’s footprints in the snow where she’d gone down with me to do the chores the other day and the feelings welled up in me again. At least I know I will see the Thayns again soon. We’ve planned a gathering at their house with the Fosters in February. I love having my children near me. I love having Hannah and Miriam here at home. I know that if they wanted to strike out on their own, they could do it, so I’m happy to have them here for as long as they want to be here. I wish all my children and grandchildren were close by.

I spent some time down in the barn yesterday. I did my usual chores, fed and watered the chickens and the peacock, threw them some scratch, and gathered the eggs (I’ve been getting 15 to 20 every day all winter!). Their nesting boxes needed fresh straw, so I opened a bale and did that and then spread the rest of the bale over the coop floor. Then I had to stand there and watch for a while. The chickens love to scratch through new straw. After that, I took the eggs up to the house and then went back outside to take a walk. I went across the yard and down to the beaver pond. As I went, I noted all the animal tracks in the snow – cat, mouse, bird, chipmunk, squirrel, rabbit, dog, possibly fox, and lots of deer. The afternoon was cold. The beaver pond was partially frozen over. I scared some ducks that were in the upper pond.

 

Tracks in the snow.

The lower beaver pond.

The upper beaver pond.

Later, toward evening, we were feeling a bit housebound, so Stacey, Hannah, and I ventured out for a walk around the property. The late afternoon sunlight was beautiful. January sunshine, when we actually get some, is lovely. Although it lacks the strength to warm us much, the cold air somehow makes it seem purer.

 

On our evening walk.

Walking through the orchard.

Toward the setting sun.

Almost home.

There is a bit of bright color amid all the exterior monochrome of January, there are flowers blooming inside the house. Upstairs the pelargoniums that I brought in for the winter are starting to bloom again. My Christmas cacti still have a few blossoms on them. And the new amaryllis that Stacey bought me for Christmas just burst into bloom. My old reliable Aunt Joyce amaryllis has flower stems emerging. And one of my orchids has buds. Seeing these signs of floral life amid all the snow and ice warms my heart.

 

Pelargoniums blooming.

Still a few Christmas cactus flowers.

My Christmas amaryllis.

So we are home from church. We’re having a sunny but cold Sabbath. I don’t know what we’re having for lunch, but I hope there’s plenty of it because cold weather makes me hungry. I’m listening to Handel’s Messiah. I love this music. I wish you all a good Sabbath.