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As traditional at this season, we await day by day the freeze-up of the immense body of water that is our entrance yard. With that ice formed, and shortly thick sufficient for strolling, and then for running dogteams and skidoos, and then - at a mere eight inches - for landing and taking off in small airplanes, the winter right here will actually start. "Near Gale" mentioned the wind chart tacked to the wall above the weather clipboard, the other day. The anemometer read 19 knots gusting to 27, and because the precise instrument is down at lake level, I’m giving us a knot to make the gusts 28, and a "near gale." In the darkness earlier than dawn, it certain sounded and felt like one thing close to to a gale. Lately, within the morning darkness around an hour earlier than twilight, I’ve taken to bundling up in a flooring-length woolen robe with an ample hood - suppose monk or penitent and you've got the right concept - slipping my bare toes into slippers, and stepping outdoors onto the higher deck that wraps across the cabin.
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