Isabella Bird Miscellany

It's a snow day, and boy I'm having a hard time focusing. Darn Ground Hog. He didn't see his shadow. That should mean spring's coming early. Heck, in January we had spring. The end of February however, has brought old man winter back.  I use the hashtag " #doilikesnow ." That's a tricky question, one that appears simple at face value; yes or no. The ruse occurs in the answer, since I'm more gray than black and white. I dig a powder-sugar dusting of snow and pendants of icicles lining the roof edge.  Silhouetted trees with snow clinging to bare branches, catching where limbs meets trunk are simply grand. And, I relish the solace and silence that a snow day creates. All winter dreamy stuff, right?  very small, insignificant snowflakes drifted down swirling casually before obscuring the dirt, pavement, the people it was quiet and subdued all you could see was white no definition between sky meeting earth everyone, everything ...

How long does it take to make a tradition? Is there some sort of parameter, or is it something that just comes to be? By definition, a tradition is something passed down from generation to generation, but how are new ones established? I mean, they have to have a beginning. That little diatribe to say, my cute man and I have a new Christmas morning rhythm, since tradition might be too strong of a word. After coffee, breakfast and the Christmas story, we donned our hikers and headed out to walk the trail at Shevlin Park. Others had the same idea as we met families large and small; folks out for a run both with and without furry friends in tow. The mood was congenial with Holiday greetings. I made it my mission to say “Merry Christmas” to everyone we met. The day was stellar, cold, crisp air, ice crystals sparkling in the late morning sunshine. The beginning of the trail is enclosed in bare-branched trees that only a couple months ago ...

only a shadow I’m out. I’m free. I drove. I’m capable. My sweet zombie apocalypse Mini Cooper is awesome! It tears up the snow and ice like the Wulfe that it is, however, the beauty and the curse of my ride is the low ground clearance. It’s brilliant for stability in a myriad of road conditions, except for deep snow, and deep snow has happened in my city. Roads are plowed in town and actually in my neighborhood. The issue has arrived in the alley which leads to my garage. It is only passable if you happen to drive a 4 x 4 that’s jacked 10 feet up. Well, maybe I am exaggerating a tiny bit, but needless to say, Wulfe has stayed in the garage for almost a week. my sweet wulfe before the snow continued and continued and continued Wulfe and I’d been out four-wheeling in the grocery store parking lot on Saturday. I can’t believe I didn’t go anywhere in a vehicle until late Wednesday morning. I’d walked and shoveled snow and cooked and did some work from home;...

I've always said that I'm a "dial-a-season" girl. Leaves and gorgeous colors in the fall, and I like snow at Christmas because, well, it's supposed to be snowy then, unless you live in Australia. Christmas in the summer does mess with you head when you've always experienced Christmas in the winter. Seasons just don't work on my personal whims! I've always said that I'm a "dial-a-season" girl. Anyway, I'm trying really hard to embrace all of the white stuff that we've been receiving this year. Granted, it is beautiful, covering the landscape in frosty wonder, and as I look at it through my camera lens, I do see the beauty instead of of the shoveling and sliding around. Have a look at what I'm enjoying through my camera's eye . These brave snow birds clung to branches on a walk through Drake Park. They didn't seem to mind one little bit that their tree was coated in ice. They continued to sing th...

red twigs emerge with beauty through the drifts of snow Ode to the winter wonderland that I find myself in, where all is white with shades of gray, except for the kids dressed in snow pants and bright hats and scarves. To venture out into the frigid temps, a daring feat of layer upon layer; moving like molasses. Still, the beauty is stark, serene and surreal. Gone are the days of sunshine and bare feet Tree branches are bare and dark across the snow laden landscape, motionless in the biting air Brittle twigs from last year’s flowers edge through the ice, a poignant reminder of what was Gone are lazy afternoons laying in the grass as puffy clouds drift overhead The frozen lake now dons the footprints of would-be skaters leaving a path of figure-eights And children laugh as they slide down the hill on sleds and red flying saucers Gone are the summertime adventures in shorts with bodies slathered in sunscreen Put away by a winter wonderland of crystalline w...

winter branches In anticipation of spring equinox in just over a week, I’m really glad that I have a hope of its arrival, faded as it maybe when cold rain and snowflakes continue to drop on my town. days and weeks passed slowly it was cold, actually a step beyond, frigid everything encased in white and ice nothing dripped winter held a strangle hold on all it touched but the sun was brilliant in equally brilliant skies sparkles danced a taunting reel on snow fields in the dead of winter spring was a faded hope Missy If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance

snowflake covered icicles How full of creative genius is the air in which these are generated!  I should hardly admire more if real stars fell and lodged on my coat – Henry David Thoreau I sat down to write a piece of poetry about Christmas and snow falling.  Words like softly and gently wanted to be written, but they seemed cliché.  You see, a couple of weeks ago someone told me I was all “happy-clappy” about Christmas.  This person knows nothing of my life; the good stuff or the sad.  We simply look at the pasted smile and go about our days, because that is what we are supposed to do. Having allowed myself to get duly worked up, I understood that my outlook had nothing to do with outward circumstances; it’s rooted in my intrinsic values and beliefs.  It’s my distinct gift to open every day. You see, the very first Christmas was not a glitter covered event with gentle snowflakes and hot toddys.  It was in a barn full of animals ...