Tuesday, February 5, 2013

“Ink froze”

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On January 23, 1857, Henry David Thoreau wrote in his Journal:
The coldest day that I remember recording, clear and bright, but very high wind, blowing the snow. Ink froze.
We are in the midst of a similar deep freeze here in New England. It’s 8˚F this morning.

This weather is very hard on the birds, of course. I’ve put out extra food, and in fact I scattered extra seed under the hedgerow last night, so that the birds could have breakfast as soon as they were up and about this morning.

Certain leftovers or food scraps are great for the birds, too. Last night I found the remains of some roast beef in the back of the refrigerator… too old for us, but I cut it into small pieces and tossed it out to the side of the yard last night. There was plenty of fat, which is a valuable high-energy food. The crows and jays will love it, and perhaps the fox that has been coming around at night will make use of it.

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Note: I originally posted this on January 24th, when it was highly relevant. This morning  (February 5), after I made a small edit to the post and saved it, Blogger, in a spasm of filing ignorance, re-posted it as a new post.

It is not eight degrees here - it's a balmy 25, and snowing.

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