two mornings ago, driving our son to soccer at 8:30 am, steve and i found ourselves driving past whole forests of hoarfrost. i should have grabbed my camera, i thought to myself. and then, i thought, no problem, this will all be here when we get back. but then we dropped off joe, and drove home, and the morning sun had melted all the hoarfrost on all the branches we had passed only 45 minutes earlier. there was one single grove of trees, burdock, grape vines, and red dock, high on a hill, that had retained the right combination of humidity and shade. so we grabbed my camera, and raced back in the car to capture this fleeting remnant of a once-per-season phenomenon. thank you, STILL blog, for making such things feel urgent.

frosted winter branches

saint paul, minnesota

today marks the end of my fourth year doing STILL. yes, you read it right, four years!!!! that is 1460 days. 1460 images. i’m not sure whether to be proud of that accomplishment, or embarrassed. because let’s admit it, after about 500 images it just starts looking obsessive.  every year, on january 1, i do a little summary of the year past, and talk a bit about the year to come.  i didn’t get a chance to do that today because frankly we are busier than we have been in years. 2016 is going to be a year of exciting change for our family.  there is a lot going on, and i hope to announce some fun news on both the STILL blog front, the personal front, and my husband, steve’s writing front. but that’s not why i didn’t get my annual STILL letter done today.  no, today was all about the college application deadline of 11:59 PM CST for our high school senior. no champagne, no boozy countdowns, no kissing at midnight. we’ll be uploading jpegs and pdfs, and proofreading essays, right up until the ball drops. happy new year!

burdock in winter

arden hills, saint paul, minnesota

this is what spring break looks like in minnesota. we drink frozen daiquiris–frozen solid. we hold iced t-shirt contests. we wear thongs under polypropylene long johns,  under fleece long johns, under shell pants, under snowmobile suits. we hang out on the beach, until we can get our skates tied, and then we glide off over the ice. we hook up with random strangers, in fish houses, using mostly shiners, but sometimes fatheads, and sometimes waxworms. it’s all very wild and irresponsible. the crowds of students from arizona state and tulane and lsu and miami university are, i guess i would say, sparse.

morning frost on prairie grass

arden hills, saint paul minnesota

prim was our gentlest and sweetest chicken. she was the one who cooed, and didn’t ever squawk or sing raucous laying songs. she approached her food daintily and slowly, and so got bullied away from the feed pail or the kitchen scraps by her bigger, bossier sisters. she occasionally wandered into the house to talk softly to herself and peck at crumbs on the kitchen floor. she had the most beautiful feathers of all of our birds: rich ginger with white lacing on her back. last fall she started to spend a lot of time alone, fluffed up and still. by the time winter came, she had diarrhea, and we couldn’t seem to find a way to stop it. she spent the last two weeks in the warmth of the house, perched on the arm of our couch, looking at the evening fire with us, still as sweet as ever, but obviously reaching a stage where she was never going to get back outside again. we realized that we were no longer operating a hospital, but a hospice, and one night she was so weak that she had trouble standing up to eat the grapes that were the last food she ever seemed to crave. as we went to bed that night, she seemed not even to have the energy to pull her wings in tight to her body. we woke up the next morning, and she was lying peacefully on her side. we’ll miss our shy, unobtrusive beauty.

feather from our golden buff chicken Prim

saint paul, minnesota