When Icicles Hang

After January Thaw, Second Chapter, our temps plummeted about 30 degrees. 22f is not necessarily horrible....unless....
it comes with high winds like we woke up to this morning.

We've sealed up every nook and cranny possible in this old farmhouse, but it insists on being drafty. My fingers positively feel like icicles as I sit and type!


Electric space heaters help the furnace along (but not our budget) and we are comfortable enough, but bitter weather like this gives me pause to think about people who are not as lucky, and about how people in times gone by managed in weather so cold that it seems downright wicked.


William Shakespeare knew such winter weather and described it well when he wrote As You Like It:

Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most freindship if feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

 

Freeze, freeze thou bitter sky,
That does not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As a friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

Marcheta *not feeling so jolly