Living in the Vortex

We spent most of last week in the grip of the notorious Polar Vortex. It was cold. During the days, we never rose above the low teens. At night, we dropped to zero or below. But the winds were terrific and that pushed the wind chill below zero most of the time. There was a lot of talk on the news about the Polar Vortex and I wasn't exactly sure what it was, so I did a little research. The Polar Vortex is the large area of cold air that surrounds the north pole. It's always there, spinning counter-clockwise. In summer it gets weaker, in winter it gets stronger. And sometimes it expands far to the south, pushed by the jet stream, blasting arctic air into places where it is not wanted. Like here. Or anywhere for that matter. Understanding what it is doesn't make me like it any more. We are used to some pretty cold temperatures here, especially in February, the coldest month of the year. This Polar Vortex attack reached far into the south, down into Texas, Louisiana, and Mississippi, and they are not used to such cold. I felt sorry for them. I'm sure the extreme temperatures damaged plants in their gardens and orchards. I know very well how devastating that can be.

The Polar Vortex last week.

An impressive five foot long icicle hanging off the barn.

The vortex winds were bitter and vicious. They howled so loudly some nights that they woke me over and over again. They made the trees hum and pop. They blew the snow into drifts across the garden and orchard and around the house, forming banks several feet high. They forced fine snow through cracks under doors making powdery dunes on the back porch and in the woodshed. In the upper floor of the barn, the wind blew a fine layer of snow under the door and across the floor that revealed the tracks of mice. Their secret activities exposed, I had to do something about it. I set some traps, but the canny mice have evaded them so far.

Drifts across the garden.

The wind damaged my little greenhouse. I forgot to close a vent the last time I was in it and the wind blasted through the vent and blew out a roof panel. Now my sunning refuge is full of snow and I won't be able to repair the roof until warm weather comes. No more sunning. Sigh.

As a treat for my chickens, I started some lentil sprouts two weeks ago. On Tuesday, they were ready. I took them with me when I went down to do the afternoon chores. The chickens were not as appreciative as I thought they should be. At first they seemed excited, but their excitement waned and they drifted back to eating their scratch. They ate them all, eventually. We are at a point where signs of approaching spring are evident in the barn if not outdoors. Egg production has picked up. I have eight nesting boxes and every day there are at least three or four eggs in each nest. The peacock has also grown out his tail, technically his train, to almost full length. As soon as we have a day mild enough to lure him outside, I'm sure he'll be showing it off.

Lentil sprouts.

Checking out the sprouts.

One of the nesting boxes.

Poesy standing in the dust bath, waiting for spring to show off his new train.

On Wednesday morning, despite it being -6°, my curiosity got the better of me and I went out to measure how deep the drifts in the garden and orchard actually are. I bundled up as best I could and grabbed my four foot measuring stick and headed out. I had difficulty walking. The snow pack is in layers – softer snow lower down with a layer of hard snow then another layer of soft snow, followed by upper layers of thick and thin ice, with powder snow on top. With every step I couldn't be sure if I was going to walk on top of the snow like Legolas on the snows of Caradhras, or crash through all the layers past my knees. I went slowly out of necessity, not desire. The deepest drift I found was on the lower edge of the apple orchard. It was 27 inches deep. I went over to Shillig's house to check out their drifts. The wall along their driveway always has dramatic drifts. Out by their shed they were pretty deep too. I  could only tolerate being out for twenty minutes, then I came in and sat by the woodstove to thaw. After that, I found warmer things to do near a heater for the rest of the day.

Preparing for my arctic excursion.

Ice pool by the side of the house.

The deepest drift.

Shillig's driveway wall.

Shillig's shed.

Arctic morning.

Last week, as I was searching through my family history filing cabinet looking for a particular photograph, I came across a paper I wrote when I was in college back in 1988. It was for one of my history classes and it was about my great-grandmother Mary Elizabeth Hench Showers. I'd forgotten all about it. It has been filed away for more than thirty years. I got an -A on it. I sat down and read it again. The professor who graded it had marked in red the errors I'd made. There weren't many, mostly instances where I'd used the passive voice, which he seemed to find intolerable. I decided to retype it and make the appropriate corrections so that I had a digital version of it. The original paper didn't have any photographs in it. In 1988, when computers and my skill at using them was primitive, that was beyond my ability. So as I retyped it, I added some photos. It turned out well. And it refreshed my memories of my Grandma Showers. Here is the opening paragraph of my paper.

"I knew Grandma Showers when I was very young and she was very old. In 1958 when I was born, she was already seventy-nine years old, and when she died in 1975, I was seventeen. Although she was actually my great-grandmother, I knew her as Grandma Showers. Throughout my childhood, Grandma Showers would visit us now and then. At that time she lived in Florida. I thought she had always lived there. I did not know much about her, just that when she was in our home, she made us wash our hands every time we walked into the kitchen and, much to our horror, she made us watch The Lawrence Welk Show on Saturday evenings instead of our preferred shows. My most vivid recollection from those years is the Chicklets peppermint chewing gum she always carried in her purse, available to any child who asked her – please."

Samuel Showers and Mary Hench's wedding photo, 1901.

Grandma Showers as I knew her.

Grandma Showers is the only great-grandparent I ever knew. Born in 1879, by the time she died in 1975, the world had changed in dramatic ways. She was born in the days of horse drawn carriages, when homes had no electricity and usually, no indoor plumbing. By the time she died, two world wars and several others later, men had walked on the moon. She led an interesting life. If you are interested in getting a digital copy of my paper, let me know and I'll email one to you.

I conducted another funeral service on Thursday, a man in our branch, seventy-four years old, who had been in poor health for years. Even so, he attended church faithfully whenever he could. It was a very simple service. This is the fifth funeral in our little branch since I became branch president in 2022. I have a feeling there will be more. There are quite a few old and frail members in my flock. The funeral was in Cuba, New York. Cuba is famous for its cheese, so after the funeral, we stopped at the Cuba Cheese Shop and got some good cheeses. Cheese is one of my staples.

Cheese!

And more cheese!

When we got home from the funeral, Stacey and Miriam decided to begin one of the Big Projects – renovating the living room. The ceiling in the living room has been falling down piece by piece for a long time and the walls were in bad shape with warped wallboard and peeling wallpaper. In an hour or two they succeeded in taking down all the ceiling tile and removing the wall covering down to the original plaster. When they were stripping the walls, they peeled off layer after layer of wallpaper, more than a hundred years' worth. It was like doing archeology as each layer took us back further in time. The room looks awful now, but at least it's ready for the next steps – a new ceiling, new lighting, new wallboard, wallpaper, and refinishing the hardwood floor. I don't know when any of that will take place. It's a work in progress. Slow progress.

Stacey pulling down ceiling tile.

It's a mess, but it will be nice when it's done – eventually.

Layers of wallpaper.

The vortex was still swirling on Friday morning. The wind picked up again and shifted new snow drifts across the yard. The wind chill hovered around zero. I went out to do the chores and bring in firewood and hurried back indoors to sit by the woodstove. At one point in the morning, I was standing at the kitchen window watching the birds feeding, when a wicked gust of wind tore around the side of the house and blew the birds away. The little gold finches were knocked from their perches and juncos skittered across the snow like gray balls of lint. It was sad to see. I went out again to do the afternoon chores and the wind was still blowing hard. By the time I was headed back from the barn to the house, the tracks I'd made going down had been obliterated by drifting snow. I can see how people can lose their way in the snow. It made me think of the Ingalls family in The Long Winter.

Miriam and Hannah went down to the Thayn's house for the weekend. They left on Friday afternoon. I picked Stacey up from work that evening and we went to the Foster's house for dinner. We were going to stay and play games after dinner, but it was snowing and we didn't want to drive home in the dark in the snow.

Yesterday was an errand day. We went up to Wellsville to buy chicken feed and do some shopping. It was a sunny day, but cold. While we were there, we stopped by the chapel and cleaned off the sidewalks. We hadn't met in two weeks and they were slick with snow and ice. The chapel has a nice snow blower. We took turns pushing it back and forth.

Stacey blowing snow.

My turn.

The winds have died down finally. The Polar Vortex has retreated back to the north where it belongs. It's going to be a little warmer this week, but not much. I'm sure we have plenty of cold weather ahead of us yet. I've been waiting for a relatively warm day to do the annual pruning of the orchard. Every year I hope for a day or two of February thaw. Some years it happens, some years it doesn't. It looks like it might not happen this year. We've come to the last week of the month and, although the Polar Vortex is gone, the highest temperature will be on Tuesday when we hit 38°, but it's supposed to rain. The snow is far too deep and treacherous to venture out into the orchard with a saw and pruning shears. It looks like I will have to wait until sometime in March. Waiting too long isn't good. The trees need to still be dormant.

After two weeks of no church because of bad weather, it felt good to gather today. We sang hymns together, we prayed together, we partook of the sacrament, we taught and discussed the gospel of Jesus Christ. It was what the Sabbath should be and I felt uplifted and edified. I was one of the speakers in sacrament meeting. My talk was based on the great talk given by Ezra Taft Benson in 1986 on the importance of the Book of Mormon. If you haven't read that talk recently, I recommend it. Here is a link:

 https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/1986/10/the-book-of-mormon-keystone-of-our-religion?lang=eng

We are home from church. Lunch is in the oven. I just looked over the week ahead – doctors appointment one day, haircut on another, and errands to run, a bit of sunshine, a bit of rain, and who knows what else. But at least it is the end of February, a milestone in the year I'm always happy to pass. Not that March will be much different. It often isn't. But it's a month closer to May and June and that makes it better, no matter what.