Looking west toward...

We are told to live in the moment. We are told we shouldn't cling to what's past or project ourselves into what has yet to materialize. We are encouraged to focus on our current reality, like it or not.

But some realities are too hard to bear, such as when it's cold inside and so much colder outside that we can't even step outside the ancient walls of the farmhouse. And with evidence mounting of the world's moral and ethical decline, it's simply too steep a climb to reach anything resembling hope. And so the great chill deepens.

But then memory serves us and we abandon the here and now to dip into the azure pool of nostalgia. Splash. If you are patient enough to pause for daylight's passing into night, you understand the ephemeral qualities of light at dusk. It is, I imagine, a glimpse into what awaits us in Heaven.

This is the Mediterranean Sea at sunset taken five years ago from a quiet patch of beach found north of Beirut, Lebanon. You see Heaven, don't you?

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.

Just a quiet drive through the neighborhood...

There's a great bumper sticker on Facebook that shows an outline of Michigan's Upper Peninsula with a tag line that reads: "If you haven't been there, you'll never understand."

I spent a bit of time recently in the U.P., a rustic region of the Midwest where trees outnumber people roughly 100,000 to one, wolves now outnumber deer much to the dismay of area hunters, and one can operate a truly exotic home-based business without the neighbors raising so much as an eyebrow. I love the U.P.

A five-minute drive from the home of my weekend host in Wallace, Michigan brought us last weekend to the DeYoung Family Zoo. The approach was very much like driving to one of our neighboring Southern Minnesota farms, except that the animals meandering the backyard pens weren't exactly natives, such as the white Siberian tiger shown below.

Mr. DeYoung specializes in raising and displaying all types of "big cats," and we discerned that raising litters of exotic cats and selling the young ones to other zoos must be how Mr. DeYoung supports his zoo. Certainly, he can't survive on admission fees; we were the only visitors this day, which offered advantages. Below, the zookeeper brought a baby mountain lion out of his temporary cage (in DeYoung's house) to meet us.

DeYoung has created a world reminiscent of a fairy tale in Wallace Michigan. Children (and big children) can walk right up to exotic and domestic beasts or fowl, who co-exist in a rustic, almost biblical setting (snow being the exception). This donkey and the partially hidden goat were especially vocal when seeing us approach. Note the lama and the cow in the background.Not to be left out of the excitement, the lama and the cow greet hubby. The cow licked hubby's sleeve. (We couldn't help but wonder if one or both of these beasts might end up across the yard some day as food for the animals who live above them on the food chain. In fact, there was plenty of evidence (i.e. cow and deer carcasses) that the hyenas, cougars, cheetahs, lions, tigers and bears on the premises were well-fed carnivores.

We were betting that there weren't many zoos that let you hold the babies the way you can at the DeYoung Family Zoo in Wallace. A note about Mr. DeYoung: He always carries a pistol on his belt when he enters animals' pens, and for good reason. Recently, DeYoung's black panther jumped him from behind and latched onto his neck. DeYoung had to shoot it to get free. The attack meant 110 stitches for DeYoung; of course, he drove himself to the hospital. That's the way it's done up there. But if you haven't ever been to the U.P., you wouldn't understand.