Winter, Again

Food for Thought

Yesterday the supermarket was crowded with ski tourists and locals shopping like mad before a frigid snowy ski weekend that would end with the super bowl on Sunday. I filled my cart with an unreasonable amount of fresh veggies and treated myself to a package of vegan breakfast sausage. This morning I made the usual breakfast before Jeff woke. Scrambled tofu, chopped mushrooms, a handful of spinach, and the vegan sausage. I ate my half on a toasted corn tortilla with some hot sauce. Perfection on a winter morning.

Our mostly blind dog Axel came down into the kitchen wanting to go out. I can let him out without worrying about him wandering in the early morning darkness because he doesn’t feel the need to roam in this weather; the huge snowbanks blot out any enticing pee smells from other dogs which usually lure him farther down our road. He came back into the warm kitchen, his thick fur dusted with snow, and ran back upstairs to his cozy bed alongside Jeff. I heated water for tea and put on Apple music’s spa playlist and watched the huge snowflakes floating down. A few tiny birds pecked at the seed balls swinging in the wind from the porch rafters.

My thoughts run to supper; black bean soup it will be along with maple cornbread. Last week I received an order from Rancho Gordo filled with all sorts of interesting beans, but the regular black ones are my favorites, so I opened a package and poured a few cups into a pot to soak. I will make the soup with onions, carrots, garlic, and fennel. I’ve been using fennel in place of celery lately in my mirepoix for a stronger flavor. I trim off the feathery stalks and put them out behind our shed in the snow for the rabbits whose footprints I see in the snow every morning. I can’t imagine what they are finding to eat in this brutally cold and snowy weather.

The snowbanks lining our driveway are now as high as my chest. Last week I was alone for seven days while Jeff was in Florida visiting his daughter and her new baby. The storm that week was epic: three feet of snow, unrelenting high winds, and sub-zero temperatures for days. I wasn’t able to get our snowblower to work so shoveling the driveway was my activity, although I had no plans to drive anywhere. After a few hours of shoveling, I realized I had no chance at clearing enough space to get my car out onto the road. Axel loved the weather, though, lounging in the drifts like he was at the beach.

I had gone inside for a rest when I heard a distant motor running, the sound getting slowly closer to my house. I went outside and saw through the blowing snow my eighty-two year old neighbor Clayton, bundled up like a polar explorer, making his way towards my house with his snowblower. He methodically ran the machine up and down the driveway, getting rid of the impossibly deep drifts. Luckily I had made chocolate chip cookies the day before, so I dashed back inside to pop a dozen into a plastic bag. When he was done, I handed him the cookies and got a big smile in return. He nodded slightly, frost covering his eyebrows and nose, and headed back down the road to his house. I am grateful for his valiant effort at making sure I was safe.

Another squall is blowing right now, the winds increasing and the temperature sinking again. Even cross country skiing, which normally is tolerable in bitter cold due to the energy needed to ski, isn’t luring me out into the woods. On these days I head to the local gym for as many yoga classes as I can fit in, embracing time on the mat as a gift of peace. Hopefully soon the temperatures will rise and the outdoors will be tolerable again.

I drag out my cast iron Dutch oven to prepare the soup. There’s a lovely rhythm to chopping vegetables that I find satisfying. Soon the soup will be simmering on the stove, tantalizing aromas filling our log cabin as we relax with a bottle of wine while watching the snow fly.

We avoid discussing national news as it is so distressing to both of us. As Joni Mitchell sang, “Reading the news it sure looks bad….” and although I know she was not referring to current events in the United States, her words run through my head every time I look at the news. Living in the woods in Vermont can leave one feeling detached from what is going on in our country, and I feel grateful and even a bit guilty that I don’t have to worry about masked gunmen storming my home, although a young mother with a baby was taken by ICE last summer from the next town over; she has since been returned home after a terrifying few months in detention. I wonder how many of those ICE agents had to leave a violent or dangerous country to try to find peace in another foreign country. I suspect not many, for they show zero empathy with their behavior. I fervently hope this ugly period of hate in our country fades away like a bad dream.

And Bruce Springsteen continues to be one of my heroes, especially with this performance which brought tears to my eyes. Thank you Bruce.