Freeze Up at an Alaska Cabin

Freeze up is a brief and dramatic transition.

The first snow always makes me feel like we have suddenly switched from a color movie with sound to a silent black and white one.  The only colors remaining in view are the yellow needles of the tamarack (larch) trees and a few glistening red cranberries dangling from denuded branches.  The only sounds are of wind,  snow sloughing off our steep roofs and lake water freezing. 

First snow in the front yard

The first sunny day after any snowfall is gorgeous, with the diamond-like glints of snow crystals, reflected light, and the complicated geometry of sun and shadow formed by trees and the lumpy terrain of snow coated ground cover.

October 25 featured a full day and night of wet, soggy snow, in mid-30s F temperatures, coating the yard and topping the stumps with 6 inches.  Early the next morning, Bryan heard branches cracking and snapping under the weight.  

 

Our young rooster, Random, crowed as usual to be let outside, but he pulled up short at the door, looking dismayed by the thick wet blanket before him.  The older hens didn't even bother to leave their perches on the roost.  

The rabbits actually get a treat this time of year.  Once the ground freezes and there is a berm of snow, we move them into our greenhouse.  There, they eat any   remaining plant material, fertilize and dig in the raised bed, and hop in and out of various pots.  We plan to keep them until their purchased feed and greenhouse greens run out, and then they will meet their maker.  In a grim comparison, this is a bit like the movie, “Soylent Green” - in which the elderly see a lovely movie of a natural world they had not seen in their lifetimes... before they are euthanized.  

Start of ice on lake

Because of imminent night time temperatures in the single digits, we stamped down smooth pathways in the wet snow leading to the wood corral, foodshed, outhouse, and coop.  Otherwise, our initial footfalls would be encased in ice, forming ankle twisting routes.  A few days later, my husband zipped around in his snowmachine, smoothing and widening the major paths – a 1200 foot loop from cabin, past wood corral, around the power shed, past the guest cabin and fuel shed and then back down.  Had we thought about path making, we would have positioned our buildings differently, but as is, we have this major “loop” and then narrower spoke paths off of it, to the shower house, food shed, greenhouse, and rabbit hutches.  

The lake freezes differently each year, depending on wind.  Last year, our final kayaking occurred on November 1, among open leads and ice floes we could access from our dock.  This year, the ice choked off our entry point a week earlier. The center N-S leads waxed and waned as the wind pushed and prodded, until they froze  overnight on Oct 27-28.  With no additional snow and deepening temperatures, the ice in the middle is glossy black and smooth.  It is a potentially perfect ice skating rink.  On Oct 30, the ice near shore was 5.5 inches thick.  Four days later, our drill broke through to water down at 9 inches.  That is thick enough to support a plane or a snowmachine... at that spot.  But we won't venture out to the middle of the lake for several weeks.  

I can understand why ancient peoples believed in monsters of the deep, because as it freezes, the lake makes so many eerie noises.  Some sound like a giant stomach gurgling.  Others are groans or moans.  Yesterday, as we walked on the ice, we heard a few that reminded us of the reverberations of both skin and metal drums, as well as underwater detonations beneath our feet.  “Gun shots” occur when the ice cracks in long, straight lines that we can see if there is no snow cover.  Perhaps cold weather versions of  the Nasca Lines?  

Freeze up is a time perfect for hobbies, classes, and indoor projects saved (and savored).  I have pulled out my sewing machine and plan to make some fleece mittens, gloves, and pajamas, and to stitch together leftover insulating fabric for coolers and freezers  in the summer.  Last week, I started an online “Mini-Med” (medical school seminar of lectures from one of my alma maters).  Fascinating. I look forward to that every Tuesday.  After that, I will embark on a series of “weather spotter” classes, followed by my annual deep dive into herbalism and concocting salves, linaments, and tinctures from plants harvested this summer.

This afternoon, we will take a walk through the woods, return for a welcome bath, and an early dinner as we watch the sun drop behind the mountains, about 4:20 pm.