It’s been cold. Have I mentioned that? It’s actually normal weather; we’ve just had such mild winters for so long that people forget how it really was. I remember being so cold as a child, the blankets piled up over me, heavy corduroy quilts that my mother made for us. Blanket is such a great word. Those heavy blankets would almost smother you, but in the best way possible, keeping you in place, weighing you down, keeping you safe.

Upon waking up, it is bright and sunny, if you can see through the frost that thickly covers the windows. Once outside, the snow blinds you, it covers everything, like a blanket. We have about a foot, from the other day, and as I walk I can’t help but to be entranced by the constant sparkle of it.

Out across the marsh, the muskrat huts are covered in turbans of white. Foot prints form in trails everywhere, deer and people mainly. These trails will disappear within hours, like I would imagine footprints in a desert might be erased, covered over by sand. The wind has been unstoppable, and the snow gives it a face. It’s a light, dry snow and is lifted easily by the wind, blowing in waves, in plumes, in full on walls at some points.

This weather makes the birds eat voraciously, and I’ve found they go through a full feeder in a week. We’ve got lots of blue jays, who have taken up camp in our apple tree, and even though they drive me crazy and I try to scare them all the time, you can’t help but to appreciate their brashness.

They are beautiful, first off, which I often forget because they annoy me so much. The alert crest, the different shades of blue, offset by a black necklace and a buff gray underbelly. But their attitude! The nosiness, their heralding the others when the feeder is filled as if they were the only ones watching, their bullying to the front of the line for food. When we fill the feeder, a jay will sit on a high branch and scream and scream like a dinner bell. Once humans have left the picture they swoop right down and take their fill.

One day I went outside and heard the call of a northern goshawk. But the loud call—Kiirrr Kiiirrr—was so low in the sky, and when I spotted where it was coming from I was thrown off. The bird was so small, and why would a goshawk be in such a low tree, near the trunk? Well, I followed it with my binoculars, and of course, it was a blue jay imitating a hawk, which, I found out, they tend to do, especially the northern goshawk. I was completely duped for a bit, and I really think the bird was just having fun with me.

The other day I woke in the middle of the night to a very strange sound. It was the yowlings of coyotes, I'm sure of it! It went on and on, and I could picture them or it over the ice and in the valley, howling away to stake their claim.

I couldn't help but to think that my footprints walking around amongst them, with my human smell all too keen, made them need to form a protest. That by howling in the middle of the blue and frozen night, I, safe in my house in my bed, the covers drawn high over my nose, would think twice next time I wanted to traipse across the ice onto their territory.

Out in the backyard we have a large marsh dammed up by beavers. In the summer we can canoe all around, as long as we are careful not to get stuck in the more shallow waters where tons of plant life live happily under water. In the winter, particularly after a week of sub zero weather, we can walk on the water, or to be more precise, on the ice. It's strange to walk where you weren't able to only a month ago.

Once out there we were able to observe things that had up until now been only seen through binoculars. Like the muskrat huts that were safe from us in the canoe because we couldn't get through the plants to see them more closely. Now we stood right next to them. They look like hay stacks and are made of moss and cattails and dirt.

We saw the tell tale cloven hoof prints of deer, and the paw prints of what we decided must be a neighborhood dog. Out in the middle of the body of water, we could inspect the beaver lodge. We had seen that before because we could canoe to it.

We also found a mystery: a large bird carcass surrounded by paw prints. While we thought at first it might be a story of wilderness---a coyote brings down a bird of prey---was probably this: neighborhood dog finds dead vulture. We found a wing on either side of the pond. It was a big bird, possibly a vulture and maybe a crow.

Now we are back inside, nice and cozy, while outside the winds howl and the dark clouds swarm. The blue jay is screaming his dinner bell alert, as we have just refilled the feeder, and also added two suet cakes, which the birds, especially the red bellied woodpecker, love.

Well, not sure if you have read the weather report for up here, but it has been below freezing for a while now. Last week our pipes froze and our landlords spent almost two hours at night in 15 degree weather using a heat gun on the pipes to thaw the ice. They were successful and the water shot through at 12 a.m. just as I was falling to sleep. I got up and danced about, glad to not have to use the huge 10 gallon jugs of water we took from work.

It got "warm" yesterday, and all the layers of frost on the windows quickly melted off. I was fascinated by the amazingly complex patterns the frost would create: huge plumes of feathery frost, my favorite, a swirling pattern of tendrils that looked like sutres, a checkerboard of fuzzy diamond marks. Each window different and spectacular!

Outside the bird feeder is quiet and still. We filled it half way yesterday morning and it's empty already!! The birds were busy at work squirreling it all away in preparation for the next few days. The weather reports are daunting: a new artic cold front is coming in from Canada tonight, bringing with it even colder air. How is that possible? We were going down to five below every night during the weekend!!

We have plans for using the oven every day. Today we have a roast beef planned, and whole wheat bread. That should total a good six hours of the oven being on at least at 350 degrees. It really does help. And we need it!

On Tuesday morning we pulled back the curtains, as we do every morning. It was very bright! Outside the trees swayed and sparkled in the sun, like crystals someone tied to every tip and nub. Freezing rain had hit us over night and covered everything with ice. We decided to go for a hike at Lake Louisa (which is pretty much our extended back yard) and take the orange trail, which we've never hiked before. We drove there in a few minutes and once we were on the trail, we felt the cold. Our breath blew out in plumes of steam. We surveyed the view of the lake, the beaver and muskrat lodges and the expanse of pine trees. We began to walk. The trail was icy and especially nerve wracking when we walked down the stone steps that crosses the beaver dam, and the swift moving stream that passes through it. A slow and steady wind creeped through the tree tops and it would make us stop still to hear the moaning of the frozen trees, weighted by hundreds of pounds of ice, or the slow creaking of the branches heavily swaying, and the cracking of the ice and it's fall to crispy leaves below, which I thought looked like frosted flakes, a sugary frost over deep tan and crunchy leaves.

Halfway in (although we weren't aware we were halfway through at this point; we both commented on the drive home that the hike was longer that we thought it would be) we began to notice the subtleties of the ice forest we were now in. When looking up, the sun was out and the sky was a clear blue, and you could see the prisms of light the sun created on the ice. Soon it was like the whole forest was strung with Christmas lights, it was so pronounced. A red twinkle here, and if you moved a green or deep yellow one would appear. All the colors of the rainbow, winking at you.

Before we had left the house, I reminded myself to dress in camouflage, as I was about to put on a light blue jacket and a bright orange scarf. I changed and put on brown and green clothes. But as I looked at the dazzle of the winking lights I thought that the perfect camouflage would be my mothers full length, long sleeve white sequined gown that she made one winter long ago, when she was pregnant with me, as I recall being told. Only with that white sequiny gown would you be camouflaged!

All this looking up made me think that all this creaking and cracking ice must mean it's falling from way on high, and I said to Steve I was surprised we hadn't yet gotten chonked on the head. We continued and yes, there were many chunks of ice littering the trail---indeed, they were falling!

We passed a flock of tiny birds foraging on a rocky floor next to chipmunks making their homes in burrowed tree trunks. As I passed quite a few low hanging branches that sank over the trail, a few times a branch would grab my hat with its icy fingers.

Once we got out of the forest it was blinding because you could see the sun reflecting off the icy pond. After a long hike our stomachs were growling for hot soup, and our feet longed for warm slippers. We got in the car and drove home.

Later on, after bowls of hot lima bean soup, the sun was shining so much that dripping started from every branch. I took some photos because it was so beautiful out, but then went back in to bake some bread. As I measured the flour I noticed an ominous black cloud coming from the West. Soon we were in the midst of a snow squall that hit us with such force that the backyard was white within minutes. I noticed that the bird feeder was filled with all the little birds, the finches, swallows, juncoes and chickadees, seemingly unaware of the fierce winds and snow blowing them about. Go home! I thought, It's a bad storm! But they didn't leave. Then I thought: maybe they know something I don't. Sure enough, in about fifteen minutes the sun was breaking and the storm passed over entirely.

The sun was out again, bright and sparkling as ever.

Outside the trees sway and sparkle in the sun, like crystals someone tied to every tip and nub. We went for a good hour and a half hike at Lake Louisa (which is pretty much our extended back yard) and decided to take the orage trail which we've never hiked before. The trail was icy and essentially nerve wracking when walking down the stone steps that crosses the beaver day and the swift moving stream that passes through it. A slow and steady wind creeped through the tree tops and it would make us stop stock still to hear the moaning of the frozen trees, weighted by hundreds of pounds of ice, or the slow creaking of the branches heavily swaying, and the cracking of the ice and it's fall to crispy leaves below, which I thought looked like frosted flakes, a sugary frost over deep tan and crispy flakes.

Halfway in (although we weren't aware we were halfway through at this point; we both commented on the drive home that the hike was longer that we thought it would be) we began to notice the subtleties of the ice forest we were now in. When looking up, the sun was out strong and the cloudless sky crisply blue, you could see the prisms of light the sun created with the ice. Soon it ws like the whole forest was strung with Christmas lights, it was so pronounced. A red twinkle here, and if you moved a green or deep yellow one would show. All the colors of the rainbow, winking at you. Before we had left the house, I reminded myself to dress in camouflage, as I was about to put on a light blue jacket and a bright orange scarf. Steve and I put on brown and green clothes. But as I looked at the dazzle of the winking lights I thought that the perfect camouflage would be my mothers full length, long sleeve white sequined gown that she made one winter long ago, when she was pregnant with me, as I recall being told. Only with that white sequiny gown you would be camouflaged.

All this looking up made me think that all this creaking and cracking ice must mean it's falling from way on high, and I said to Steve I was surprised we hadn't yet gotten chonked on the head. We continued and yes, there were many chunks of ice littering the trail---indeed they were falling!

We passed a flcok of tiny birds foraging on a rocky floor next to chipmunks making their homes in burrowed tree trunks. As I passed quite a few low hanging branches that sank over the trail, a few times a branch grabbed my hat with its icy fingers. It was so cold!

Once we got out of the forest it was blinding because you could see the sun reflectin off the icy pond. After a long hike our stomachs were growling for hot soup, and our feet longed for warm slippers.

Later on, after bowls of hot lima bean soup, the sun was shining so much that dripping started from every branch. I took some photos because it was so beautiful out, but then went back in to bake some bread. As I measured the flour I noticed an ominous black cloud coming from the West. Within minutes we were in the midst of a snow squall that hit us with such force that the backyard was white within minutes. I noticed that the bird feeder was filled with all the little birds, the finches, swallows, juncoes and chickadees, seemingly unaware of the fierce winds and snow blowing them about. Go home! I thought, It's a bad storm! But they didn't leave. Then I thought: maybe they know something I don't. Sure enough, in about fifteen minutes the sun was breaking and the storm passed over entirely.

The sun was out again, bright and sparkling as ever.

This is the beginning of the Cow Hough Natural Log. We are now new born naturalists exploring our own backyard in upstate New York. This is for the benefit of our family---those who are curious about what we do with our time, and also for those in Florida who don't know what that white stuff on the ground is.

Enjoy!