Crossing the Ledyard Bridge at dusk, by Madeleine LaPenta
Welcome to “Dear Daybreak”, a weekly Daybreak column. It features short vignettes about life in the Upper Valley: an encounter, a wry exchange, a poem or anecdote or reflection… Anything that happened in this region or relates to it and that might strike us all as interesting or funny or poignant.
Want to submit your own Dear Daybreak item? Just go here!
Dear Daybreak:
When I retired, I was advised to "do what interests you.”
I really didn't want to get a job. What I wanted to do was make my own schedule, based on what projects I happened to be working on, and especially, what the weather might be doing on any given day. Mostly, I like to spend a lot of time outdoors in the afternoon.
During warmer weather, I'll often sit outside and play my ukulele. But during the cold weather, that isn't an option.
A year ago, in December, when the temperatures started staying below freezing day and night, I decided to make some ice outside, by filling up buckets and things with water, and leaving them outside. It was just something to do once the shoveling and chores were done.
Well one thing led to another. I started saving quart-size yogurt containers, take-out plastic containers, and anything that might hold water and freeze without cracking.
The quart containers and take out trays work well for stacking and making ice towers. What is really cool, is that if you balance one on top of another, if it's cold enough, they will freeze to each other instantly, especially if you add a little water and snow. Over time, with the sun gaining intensity, things melt a bit, and sometimes lean, but then refreeze in that new position.
If it stays below freezing continuously, and I work on this project a little each day, then eventually I end up with a lot of ice displayed in our backyard. I face the ice southwest. Just before sunset, the ice displays become lit up, and refract and reflect the sunlight, creating a vivid glow, though it is a constantly changing, transitory sight. We sometimes refer to it as Icehenge.
It's a fun pastime, but I really look forward to watching them melt as spring advances!
— Bob Totz, Norwich
Dear Daybreak:
Winter Affair
Atop a ridge
of stunted spruce
and snow slabbed
four feet deep
skimming solo across
a white birch draw
to a hidden glade
of fine February powder,
my secret lover,
snaking a slow descent
in a sinuous dance
down her smooth-sifted
forest floor, lured back
in the ravenous silence
and stiff caress
of a sharp west wind
home-bound by
late-shadowed twilight
with red-faced
unfaithfulness
amazed to see you
waiting still,
warm and lovely,
almost forgiven.
— Danny Dover, Bethel
Dear Daybreak:
When we moved out of our old farmhouse two years ago, we moved to the other side of the property into a passive house that my husband, an architect, had designed and is building. One of the most difficult negotiations between us was the question of having a fireplace in the house. This is Vermont, for Pete’s sake. A fire in the fireplace helps us get through the long, dark days of winter. A fire in the fireplace provides a beacon that draws us in. Unbeknownst to me, a fireplace is not allowed in a passive house. The house by design is so tight that having a chimney that draws air up and out defeats the purpose of this kind of construction.
I have spent countless nights sitting by a fire, many of these at my summer camp or on a camping trip in our small mini-max trailer. One can get lost staring into the fire as the embers glow and the sparks fly. Deep conversations can happen there as people’s guards come down and the warmth enfolds us. Silences are welcomed as all are entranced by the fire. So it is no wonder that I was determined to have some kind of fireplace in our new home. We finally compromised on an electric fireplace. I’ve actually come around to appreciating it. It’s lovely to watch and does put out some heat. It’s not what we used to have but it will have to do.
We recently were invited by our neighbor to our old farmhouse for dinner. My faithful sidekick, Smooch the Labrador retriever, was invited as well. And as we sat at the dining room table, she headed straight for the rug in front of the fireplace and spend the evening snoozing there. When it was time to go home, she glanced at me with a look that said, “Really? You expect me to leave this? Oh fine, if I must.” She then followed us home.
— Perry Allison, Thetford
