On the ice

On Saturday morning, the snow has finally receded enough to give us access to our back yard and the frozen lake. The every-weekend-all-day ice fisherman had already set up his tent, so we figure it is safe enough to go out there ourselves.

Hearing the ice creak and crack beneath him, Matt decides to turn back.

I keep going on the smooth, slick ice: Step-step-slide—step-step-slide—step-step-slide... In the middle of the lake, I take a series of shots to be combined into panorama images…

I’m fascinated like by the patterns in the ice, like snowed-over tracks from cross-country skis and animals.

And cracks…

And ice-over holes…

And trapped leaves (and a feather)…

Coming off the ice, I start laughing upon seeing that Matt has given up his scarf to make Clyde feel cozy.

Then I notice a sure sign of spring!

“Where’s Matt?” I wonder. Then I find—and join him—in the hot tub.

This morning, the ice fisherman is in place before I’m out of bed, joined by a small partner to enjoy what might be the last solid ice of the season.

Fire-n-Ice Romance

Heading from the street-level parking area down to our happy home, I am enchanted by the glow of candles illuminating my path.

My husband had transformed the remains of several storms into a candelabra, placing votives directly into the snow.

He awaits my arrival by our door. When I walk in, more flames greet me: In the fireplace, on the mantle and the table.

And more ice: In the shaker, from which he pours a cocktail of POM Wonderful juice, Zirco coconut water with pomegranate, L’chaim Kosher Vodka, Peychaud’s bitters (1869 German recipe) and frozen organic berries.

Cheers!

Dinner is ready, too, complete with a salad featuring homemade croutons.

What did I do to deserve this? I’m not sure. But please remind me to keep doing it!