Yule and Snow

 

  

              We are coming to the end of Yule and the end of a cold spell that had snow on the ground for four or five days—there is still a mound by the greenhouse, where it slowly slid off of the solar panels and the roof. Preparation for both events is pretty similar, as we focus inward and limit interactions with the outside world.

                First, we settle and cover the outside world. All of the plants in pots around the yard move into the greenhouse. If it is really cold, we toss a remay sheet over them, but we did not do that this time. Branches break. Plants that normally live in the greenhouse may move into the dining room or the duration of the cold spell. The scented geraniums that cluster around the front steps move inside to the unheated dining room; the parsley and chives in pots move into their semi-protected spaces under the porch porch roof.  The chickens and rabbit get extra straw and I find the back-up water bottles so trading them out is easy. This year, Mark contacted a friend and brought in an extra load of firewood, which we unloaded one afternoon.

                Inside, the world shrinks down to the kitchen and living room. We go to the library and bring home a stack of books and, perhaps, a DVD or two. We stop at the co-op and stock up on milk, eggs, cheese, and chocolate. We put an extra blanket on the bed. Then, we shut the doors to the bedroom, cozy room, and bathroom, keeping the heat in the core of the house.  

                When everything is protected, Yule can begin, even in a snowstorm.  Wet boots dry by the heater after a long walk.  The crockpot bubbles with local beans, onions, garlic, and bay leaves. Add cornbread—cornmeal from our own plants!—and a salad made from the last head of lettuce in the garden, and we are well fed. I draw the curtains and start a fire while Mark washes the dishes. The cat basks in the dry heat and dodges the occasional spark. We read A Christmas Carol, stare at the flames, watch the snow pile up outside and swirl around the colored lights on the front fence. Our world pauses for a little while, before beginning again with the new year.