This morning we went shooting. It was cold and dry and the sky a brilliant hue of blue as the sun – missing for the better part of a week – rose over Tollman Mountain.

The mixed bag of weather from Gemini had finally passed and the ground was bright white with a fresh dusting of snow. Winter had settled in overnight. It was a good day to be outdoors, and a fine day for shooting.

My friend Bob Otty, who came to visit us from Vermont yesterday and wound up spending the night, is an expert rifleman. He also happens to be a very good teacher when it comes to firearms training, and has always been especially diligent and cautious when explaining gun etiquette and safety to my children. He taught my son how to shoot a .22. Today, he would give Michael and Isabel their first lesson in how to shoot a .28.

I admire the craftsmanship of a well-made rifle, and Bob came equipped with a Caeser Guerini Maxum two-barrel 28 gauge shotgun. Thing of beauty, that gun, even if you’re not a shooter. The Maxum has a smooth walnut stock with coin engraving on the side plates and barrels with black metallic luster. The weight and balance of the rifle as you carry it in the field and then take aim at a clay is something to marvel.

The targets today were sporting clays, and with a .28, you need to be spot on with your shot because the spray is compact.

Before we started launching clays, Bob set up a few in a snow bank.

“Easier to hit a stationary target,” he explained, walking us back to a distance of about 40 feet. Michael shot first.

He hit the snow bank but not the clay. But on his second shot, bulls eye.

Isabel hit her clay on the first shot.

Bob said this might happen.

“Women are generally better shooters than men,” he explained.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Don’t know. But it’s something to keep in mind when you meet a woman carrying a rifle.”

Michael went on to hit three more clays in the air. Something of a marksman, that kid. Isabel had a little trouble with moving clays, and proved to be the exception to the woman are better shooters than men rule. Myself? I hit nothing.

* * *

Later in the morning, we went for a walk on our acreage, everyone curious about the damage (my family arrived only yesterday afternoon after several storm related delays). Given that my own exploration of the property during Gemini remained pretty close to the cabin, I too wanted to venture further afield.

Laura, Sarah, the cabin dog and yours truly started in the backyard and began our loop to the river. We didn’t have to travel very far to see the first downed trees (pitch pines both).

Ice was still in evidence and glazed on birch trees and saplings in spots where sunlight had not been able to penetrate the tall stands of evergreens.

And those birches and saplings made for some pretty cool ice gazebos.

There were some young maples that snapped on the path to the river.

As well as the trunk of a white cedar.

The rain from Gemini moved most of the river ice downstream. Water was high and moving fast for December.

And the final measure of ice coating everything on the property: almost an inch.

The cabin dog had some difficulty on our walk. And perhaps I should've made this clear at the outset: the ground we were walking on was frozen. Solid. And on top of the frozen surface was a dusting of fresh snow. If you were skiing, the conditions would've been described as FAST. If you were walking, the conditions would've been described as UNSAFE WITHOUT CRAMPONS. And if you were the cabin dog, the conditions would've been described as, well, SLIPPERY AND WHY THE FUCK AM I OUTSIDE IN THE FIRST PLACE?

The trees on the river were sparkly downstream.

Ice may be a bear to deal with but it is beautiful to look at.

In the distant woodlot, everything glazed and bowed.

Somehow, we weathered the storm.