A Cold Walk with Me Wednesday

I'm fortunate to be able to walk. Yesterday morning I dashed outside to chop some kindling to start a fire. The block of fir had a small branch through it but in my haste to get out of the freezing cold I didn't use caution. The ax bounded in my hands and sliced down to my ankle before I could react. A piece of red sock was partially cut away from my ankle. My ankle smarted and is a bit bruised. Stunned at the close impact I couldn't help but be very, very grateful the ax hadn't done any real damage. I think that the tough support stockings I need to wear--with great begrudgement-- helped to deflect the ax just as they helped to prevent severe bleeding when the dog attacked last summer.I love these cold sunny January days that we've been having for more than a week. The temperatures at our place drop into the low twenties at night with the days dawning clear. Though the thermometer shows the day temps warming into the fifties the air is freezing and whatever is hidden from the sun stays frozen. Yesterday I jumped on my bike for a quick, invigorating ride, my ears frozen red. Today I walked to better absorb this weather that so reminds me of the winters of my youth in N Arizona. There the temps would hover around zero, Often dipping as low as -20F for days. The kind of dry cold where moisture from your breath coats your nose with a rim of ice. Never seen it? Take a peek at this great picture posted on Lene's blog yesterday.

Walking west up the road that hugs the side of a ridge I passed this farmer's pond where only the far side gets to bask in the sun during the winter while the water and the tall grasses on the south end stay frozen.
A bit further up the road the joyful sounds of kids at play drew my attention. Down on the playing fields of the school, three girls skipped briskly out of view. They moved so quickly I barely had time to snap the picture. All three appeared to be Old Believer Russian girls with their long hair and skirts. There's a large settlement of Old Believers in this area. They still practice an old form of Russian Orthodoxy from the early nineteen hundreds when their ancestors fled the persecutions. Ed is often mistaken for one with his long beard. :-)

Further on I turned onto a side road that winds up over the ridge. Looking down into a wooded pasture this tree reminded me of the sea lions that hang out on the piers in Newport. (ha, Aurora just now glanced at this picture and said it looks like a sea lion.) They laze in the sun, lifting their heads high in the air to roar and snap when another sea lion intrudes on their space.
Next was the Hugging Tree: when one tree fell, a part of it embraced the standing one.

Do you see the mountain? That's Mt Saint Helens in the far distance.

I've been reading about the benefits of felting soap: the soap lasts longer; is better than using a washcloth; prettier than a regular soap bar, etc. So today I torn off some wool roving, wrapped it around a bar then held it under hot running water while I rubbed the wool. Once the first layer felted I put a few strips of blue wool on, put it in a zipped bag with more hot water and massaged it. Last, a thin layer of white wool was wrapped on then rubbed some more. It's not too bad for the first attempt. Next time I'll put on a thinner first layer.