A smashed mailbox and other thoughts on autumn...

Winter begins officially sometime tomorrow. I'm not sure who the "official" is who tied our seasons' beginnings and endings to the calendar, but clearly, he or she is a moron. Or, to put it more graciously, he or she clearly isn't from around here.

Winter began in these parts before the end of November. That's more than three full weeks before the soltice. It has gained momentum from the start. In what way, you ask? Well for starters, my mailbox has been hit by the county snowplow two times in the last week. It is so badly bent the door won't close.

That's a pity because, today, wind-driven snow will make the walk to the mailbox an expedition. I will have to pile layer upon layer of outerwear over my pale flesh, and still I'll have to tuck my face into my chest and bend low into the wind to keep my face from freezing and falling onto the driveway. If there is mail in my half-open mailbox, it is getting wet waiting for retrieval. Of course, it's possible that the box is empty. There's no real way to know without making the trek.

This afternoon the department of transportation has added our county to the dozen or so in which travel conditions are unadvised. There are blizzard conditions outside, MNDOT tells us. Anyone with a window (that hasn't completely frosted over) could have made that call. But the official statement is helpful because that's our cue that Mass in town is cancelled, our obligation lifted as conditions make it too dangerous to venture out, according to Father Schneider. He's an "official" who's from these parts; he understands how the road disappears under wind-wipped snow and how white can be even more blinding that black.

Mail notwithstanding, there's now no real reason to open the door. That leaves those of us hunkered down at Four Cedars Farms to bid farewell to autumn officially either by sleeping through the transition, eating heartily in anticipation of a warm front, or distracting ourselves with the Wonderful World of the WWW. Some of us here have opted for the long winter's nap. You already know how I chose to spend my time.

Even when it's too cold...it's beautiful

I've been away. And so I've been missing sunrises like this: cold, pristine sunrises over an empty prairie — a place where, even in winter, you can stretch out your thoughts for miles before they bump into the thoughts of another.

It's good to be home.