I rise early at the cabin. Well before dark. Even before the dog. When all is quiet. Mornings are cold. I turn up the thermostat. The cabin is efficient with heat and warms quickly. I put the kettle on the stove and turn on the porch light. Typically, it snows overnight. This morning, however, a thin glaze of ice coats everything. Ugh.

Ice here – ice anywhere – is unwelcome. But I am prepared. Fuel in the generator. Provisions in the kitchen. Booze in the cupboard. Books on the shelves. Kindle fully charged. The only thing I am lacking: crampons.

I need not travel today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. The truth is, I could hole up here for a week and be fine. Given the weather I am prepared for that eventuality. The only thing I will need: more gas and oil for the generator. I will make that trip this morning with the onset of heavy ice forecast for this afternoon through Sunday evening. Anticipating this will be my last dispatch for several days.

It is only when the cabin warms that the dog makes her first appearance. She is still sleepy and a little grumpy having slept fitfully after her first encounter with the ice last evening an episode that was funny for me but embarrassing for her. She fell. A lot. Like she was drunk. And when I started laughing she started whimpering.

The dog went to bed angry and woke up with contempt for me. It is clear that she misses her family.

The above shot (taken earlier this week) is a more typical morning here in Black Brook. The temperature when I took this picture: 8 degrees.

One needs to prepare accordingly before venturing outdoors (thermals, sweater, winter coat, hat, gloves, boots and gaitors). The dog bounds out of the house, eager for a walk in the woods. It has snowed several inches overnight. And the overall snowpack is deep for December (about 20 inches).

I am always struck by the quiet here. It is all enveloping. Broken by the occasional calls of wintering birds (jays, nuthatches, chickadees) and, in the distance, the sounds of ice and fast water on the river. The views are also breathtaking. As is the light. This morning pale pink. And in the distance, views of Tollman Mountain and Signal Peak.

The trees are laden with snow.

Cedars, firs, hemlocks, pines, and spruces.

The snow is deep for walking, and my body warms quickly. I widened the path to the horse barn and cut a new trail to the river over the summer. It was hard work but the deer seem pleased with the results (this morning there were four on the path).

I think about getting horses. And raising chickens. And having a pig and cow and garden and orchard. Moving north full time. But everyone in my family thinks I’m crazy.

I am able to work remotely here and extremely fortunate in that sense. Yesterday I was online most of the afternoon. I completed several conference calls, all while staring at the mountains.

The dog tires quickly. Snow clumps to her pads, turns to ice. She stops, sits, chews off the ice. And then she resumes hunting for chipmunks.

Unsuccessfully.

The river is a ten-minute walk in the winter. Some of the terrain is steep. In December, water is still visible. Late in January, the surface will have frozen.

This is the trail by the river. It is a good, long walk. In summer, we enjoy the views here. As well as fishing for brown trout.

The aforesaid deer tracks.

Upland, above the river, there is a meadow. The field is good for sledding. It is near the cabin, and completes our morning walk.

I love it here. Especially in winter. Even when the glazing has begun (see below).