When does “winter” begin? That depends — are you guided by the stars? Or is the weather here on Earth more relevant to you?
As kids, my contemporaries and I were taught to mark the seasons on astronomical solstices and equinoxes, two of each, roughly the 21st of the months of March, June, September and December. After all, that’s the way the ancients did it.
It seems to have become more common lately, for whatever reason, to tilt toward meteorological seasons and assign three calendar months to each. Spring, then, begins on the first day of March, and so on.
Nature will do what it does, regardless.
The next Solstice, which kicks off atronomical winter, is still three weeks out. Meteorological winter began yesterday — and before dawn, as if on cue, Ozarkansas got its first snow.
The beam from my headlamp illuminated a faint skiff of white on the hood of the Silverado. I hadn’t seen snow on The Mountain since last winter.
The bright dots near the top of that photo, by the way, are lights at the center of town (Yellville), four statute miles away, and a couple of cell towers a little farther west.
Inside the cabin at that hour, it was cold. I’d left the woodstove dampers open a crack overnight, hoping to boost radiant heat. That it did — but with the increased draft, the fire had burned to ashes by the time Smudge got me up at 3am.
It’s a balance, obviously, between a hot fire and a long one. (Feel free to use that as a metaphor for life.)
I supplemented wood heat with electric for about 90 minutes, until my morning fire started putting out serious BTUs. I hated to do that. The objective, however, was to warm things up, and the combination got the job done much faster.
I ‘ve been really diggin’ the views the last couple of weeks.
Hall Mountain preoccupies me, I guess because it’s so close. Its presence dominates the natural vibe here. Hall stands as the fifth-tallest and most typographically prominent point in Marion County, Arkansas.
But there’s so much more to explore, now that the leaves are down. Yesterday morning, for example, I stood on the driveway north of the cabin and looked northwest. This is what I saw (no zoom, uncropped):
I focused my eyes on a prominence at the horizon, then zoomed my phone’s camera to 3x. This also is uncropped:
I’m sure you see it, too, through the trees. It seemed to be taller than where I was standing, especially considering the apparent distance, but I didn’t know exactly what it might be.
So I looked it up.
That rise must be Clark Hill. Its elevation, 1,341 feet AMSL, makes it the second-highest point in the county and 37 feet taller than Hall Mountain (though 300 feet less prominent). The summit is 15 miles from The Mountain.
Here’s an image taken at 10x zoom, cropped vertically to 1:1:
Hidden from view, just four feet taller and less than a mile farther to the northwest, is the highest point in Marion County. It bears the unimaginative name of, simply, “Marion County High Point.”
If I wanted to visit the summit of Clark Hill, once home to a fire-lookout tower, I could drive to it. Covering those 15 statute miles, however, would require traveling 29 road miles, mostly unpaved, and it’d take me nearly an hour.
I didn’t know any of that when I woke up yesterday morning. I love to learn. I want to know.
Honestly, I would’ve liked to have been back working on the east slope Monday, but it wasn’t the day for it (or so I decided). The temperature hovered around 30°F. No wind to speak of, but no sun, either. By mid-afternoon the air was filled with a light mist, which glazed already-cold surfaces (truck, camper, trash cans) in a thin layer of ice.
Work will happen another day.
The sun set. Darkness fell. Flurries danced in the air.
Winter, as I define it, has come to Ozarkansas. I’ll break out my favorite cold-weather gear, settle in and enjoy the next few months.
It’s great to be here.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable