A Nor'easter

The wind started about 10 pm Thursday night, just as we lost power. We went to bed, but could not sleep as the wind howled and rain lashed the house. The house shook, trees fell with a crash and a thud. Each time we cringed, hoping a tree would not fall on the house. Gusts of wind swirled around the house; one blew open a window above our bed that we had not latched shut. Sometime around 1:00 am we drifted off to the sleep as the Nor'easter moved off-shore and the winds died down.

We woke Friday morning, hearing a neighbor's generator. His basement floods during rainstorms that knock out power. He must run the generator to keep the sump pump running non-stop. During the December 2008 ice storm, when we lost power for three days, we finally bought a generator. We found one at a Home Depot in southern Massachusetts, more than 100 miles away, just as the power returned. So, this time we were ready, sort of. We forgot to get gas for the generator. By 9:00 am we were driving to find gas, along with everyone else. The lines to the gas pumps were long.

Someone reported a gust of 91 mph in Portsmouth. As we walked around the neighborhood, and remembered the sound of the wind during the night, we knew that the wind was fierce. Large, live white pines - some two feet in diameter -- were uprooted and lying on the ground. Some fell harmlessly in the woods, many took down powerlines, at least one hit the front of a house up the road, breaking two windows. They must have been terrified when it happened, a tree crashing against their house during a ferocious midnight storm. Utility poles snapped. This just from the power of wind and water. There was no ice, no wet snow. Temperatures were above freezing.

The damage and power outage is widespread -- more than 300,000 of us without power in New Hampshire. Most people are prepared now, after a growing number of intensive storms during the last few years. By mid-day Friday we could hear a chorus of generators. Neighbors were helping neighbors clear fallen trees and making runs to the gas station to get more gas for the generators. Town crews were busy clearing fallen debris.

Today is day two without power. Fallen trees still lie across some lines in our neighborhood. We expect to be without power for a few more days. A local bakery in a neighboring town has free Internet access, good coffee, tasty bagels, and comfortable chairs -- a nice place to write this blog. Here are a few photos from the aftermath of the February 25, 2010 storm.

 

 

A Pair of Pileateds

About mid-morning, as I was tapping away at my computer, I looked out the window to see a few flurries falling. A precursor to the 3 to 5 inches of wet snow expected tonight, followed by another storm on Thursday. The goldfinches arrived just as the flakes began to fall, as they have done in advance of recent storms. The birds looked dull, blending in with the gray tints of mid-winter.

As I stared out the window, letting my mind wander from my work, a sudden flash of color caught my eye. A female pileated woodpecker worked a 10-inch white pine twenty feet beyond the feeders. Her bold red crest and solid black back in sharp contrast to the flat, gray woods. As she flew to the backyard I followed her path as she landed on a red maple. Just as I glanced through my binoculars, the male flew in with great sweeping wing beats and landed on the same maple that the female had recently left. For the next hour they flew from dead or dying tree to dead or dying tree in the small woods behind our house. The male spent 10 minutes near the base of a six-inch dead white pine. He chiseled and flicked large pieces of bark over his shoulder, eventually clearing four feet of bark from the tree.

Aria and I walked back to the woods to stretch our legs and I took a few photos of the recent woodworking by the male pileated woodpecker. Insect trails and fresh woodpecker holes were clear and bright in the exposed wood. The woodpeckers seem to know in advance which trees have insects beneath the bark, as they rarely visited healthy, live trees. As we walked back to the house, the pair of pileateds flew overhead, gracefully moving through the canopy to the next big dead tree.

 

  

 

Just as we settled back in - me at the computer, Aria on the carpet near my feet -- the flock of goldfinches at the feeder disappeared suddenly. That always means one thing -- a predator has swooped in. There on a branch was a male sharp-shinned hawk. A beautiful bird, which sat for a few minutes, letting me get a good look through the binoculars. He was small for a hawk-- like a slender robin -- with a small bill and head, orange legs and feet, slate-gray back and head, slightly notched long, square tail, brightly barred breast, and a bright yellow spot at the base of its bill. The small birds stayed away from the feeder, so the sharp-shinned left to continue on its hunting rounds.

Sometimes I wonder if I should go back to a "regular job" -- one at an office, with regular hours and people to talk to. Then I think how I'd miss seeing a pair of pileated woodpeckers flick chunks of bark or a sharp-shinned hawk rest on a branch, taking walks throughout the day, listening to nature when I pleased, or writing this blog. Thanks to Srini for working the regular job and doing the long commute, so I can pursue my interests and work and play from the breakfast room/office. Aria's tail is going  thump, thump, thump as she dreams - she agrees.

Droplets of Sap

On Saturday the annual ritual of maple sugaring got underway. Forty-five sap buckets now adorn the sugar maples (and a few red maples) that grow along the stone walls on Bald Hill Road. 

Someone up the road is collecting the sap, "borrowing" the Mitchell maple trees for the season of sap collecting.

 

 

A droplet of sap fell into the bucket every 3 to 4 seconds under sunny skies at mid-afternoon today. The temperature reached into the high 40s, after an overnight of below freezing.  Many more drops need to fall - 40 gallons worth -- to make a gallon of syrup. The conditions were good today, with the cold night--warm, sunny day combo. The weather the rest of the week -- clouds, rain, and snow -- will likely bring the flow to a very, slooooow drip. The season is just getting underway though, so plenty of time for the sap to flow and collect in the buckets along Bald Hill.

Mindful Breathing

I started breathing in 1960, and yet nearly 50 years later I am still learning to breathe. Living here where the air is clean allows us to go through life ignoring our breathing. Inhaling and exhaling is such a natural, involuntary act, that we mostly never think about it. Yesterday I began a journey to learn to breathe, to focus on my breath, to engage in "mindfulness of breathing."

A few miles up the road, tucked into the pine woods along the meandering Piscassic River, lies the Aryaloka Buddhist Center. I've visited their website many times, but not being a Buddhist, I had not stopped in for a visit or a class until yesterday. Of course anyone can visit anytime, they always welcome visitors. I just never ventured down the side road that leads to the Aryaloka, which is part of the Friends of the Western Buddhist Order.

For quite awhile I've thought about meditating. Until now I felt that my woodland walks provided ample space for meditation, or that my yoga offered similar benefits. However, I never focused on my breathing and I certainly was not mindful of my breathing, unless I was out of breathe. And often my mind was wandering, unfocused, with lots of "internal chatter." So, on Saturday I joined 11 others in my first class on Mindfulness of Beathing, one of two forms of meditation taught at the Aryaloka.

Our teacher, Viriyalila, welcomed us as we sat around in comfortable chairs on the second floor of a renovated barn, the sun shining in through big windows. Tea and coffee and fresh fruits were available throughout the day and a healthy vegetarian lunch was served. Most everyone was there to learn how to focus the mind, to block out distractions, to calm the restless mind. None of us said we were there to learn how to breathe.

During the course of the session Viriyalila led us through five 10-15 minute meditation sessions. First though, we had to "take our seat." We knelt on large square cushions and sat on a set of smaller cushions or a small bench to minimize strain on muscles and joints. You don't want to be disturbed by physical pain during meditation. People with joint pains can sit in an upright chair with feet flat on the floor.

After we all nestled into our positions, made adjustments as needed, and placed our hands comfortably in our laps, we started. Viriyalila tapped the meditation bell in front of the 2-foot high bronze Buddha and lighted candles, and started us on our mindful breathing. Part of settling into the meditation posture includes a body scan -- a long and deep body scan or a brief tuning in to where you are sitting, focusing on your body. This was my favorite part of the day. Viriyalila talked softly as she asked us to think about the soles of our feet, our five toes, our ankles and legs, and on up through the other parts of our body. This "felt" good.

The rest of the day we learned and practiced the four stages of mindfulness of breathing: counting at the end of each breath, counting at the beginning of each breath, watching the breath come and go without counting, and then focusing on the sensation where the breath first enters the body. I focused on the tip of my nose and it started tingling like I was smelling fresh mint in the garden on a spring day. The counting in stages one and two occur at the same time, but the experience is completely different - counting at the end of a breath versus counting at the beginning of a breath. That is a bit startling.

At the end of each 10 to 15 minute session we shared experiences. We all felt our mind wander during each of the stages, and as Viriyalila spoke intermittently and softly during each stage she brought us back, helping us concentrate our minds on breathing. This is normal and part of the meditation process, and is not failure. Like any exercise, at the beginning it seems like work.

Several people asked what to expect, how to feel, how to measure success. Viriyalila gently expressed the idea that each person is different, each experience is unique. I was just happy that I could breathe.

Spruced Up

Every once in a while one needs to spruce up the place a bit - move some furniture, hang a different picture on the wall, change the bedspreads. I usually feel the urge after I complete a work project, or when I get cabin fever, or when some other event calls for a change. All three seemed to converge in the last few weeks with the loss of Bella, completion of a Stewardship Plan for the Isinglass River Conservation Reserve, and a smidgen of cabin fever.

So it was today that I got the urge to redecorate the Spicebush Log. No major changes, but the photo was looking a little faded and dusty. My new headline photo is of the rock polypody, one of my favorite little ferns. It remains stoic throughout the year. During the cold months, it curls against the wind, ready to be refreshed by the sun's warm rays. The polypody is common and grows on most of the large boulders throughout our northern forests. It will forever remind me of my daily woodland walks with Bella.

Nature refreshed the outdoors this week too. On Tuesday she dropped about 8 inches of fresh powder. The goldfinches knew it was coming. They zoomed in like a hive of wild bees -- all 70 of them -- for a late lunch. Within an hour they were gone, and the snow fell harder. The snow is not staying long as temperatures are creeping toward 40 F today. Vancouver weather!

A Dog Fix

If you need a dog fix for the day, head on over to Tom & Atticus. They are on Cape Cod for a few days of writing (Tom) and relaxing (Atticus). Tom has great photos of Atticus and the beach (with Atticus) at sunset and sunrise.

Walking the Wrack Line

We spent a bit of President's Day at the beach for the second year in a row. Last year to the day we discovered the beauty of the beach in winter for humans and dogs. Today half a dozen other people and their dogs strolled on the beach.

Today was a high, high tide, just a day past a new moon. We walked the wrack line on an incoming tide, stepping quickly out of the way as big waves broke hard against the shore pushing water higher up the beach. As the undertow pulled the water back into the sea in a great rush, "the wrack" -- small rafts of seaweed and other debris -- was left behind. The wrack line is a winding trail of detritus that marks the irregular pattern of tidal wave action at the high tide line. Each new wave brings more material, shifting, swirling and mixing the clumps left behind.

As the tide recedes, the wrack left behind becomes dry and brittle and a bit unsightly until the next high tide refreshes the beach. Walking the wrack line, on the incoming tide, as the waves wash over the detritus, is the best time to admire the beauty of the wrack. A fresh wave cleanses the colorful seaweeds and rounded pebbles, leaving them fresh and shiny.

Meanwhile, Aria played in the surf,
and walked the wrack line,

until Srini found a stick,

and then she went back to the surf.