Jó reggelt kívánok, Ulster County.
The grip of winter has loosened a finger or two this December 28 morning. With our full portion of cold yet to be served, any day that climbs to 41° is welcome.
Compared to the single-digit mornings of the holiday weekend, the present 25° feels giftwrapped. Perhaps one reason for the change, and the coming warmer weather on Friday (52°) and Saturday (47°) is that the wind is blowing dead out of the south now at three knots an hour.
Somewhere out over the Atlantic, the sun hastens to us to rise out over the eastern horizon at 7:24 a.m.
The moon also rises, like a fat sickle to harvest the earth and share the sky, at 11:20 a.m.
Low tide follows only 20 minutes later. Enough water will be left in the Mahicanituck that there is no danger of scraping hull or keel on the bottom. Under the gaze of the Westpoint Academy, the deepest part of the river is 202 feet down.
And anyway, the high tide will add another four feet by 5:39 p.m.
According to the quintessential fur trapper Dionizas, who hustles his sustenance on Mount Tremper, there remain 72 days of winter temperatures ahead, more than one quarter already behind us.
We now reach out to Bjorn Jorgensen on Belleayre Mountain for the snow report, though we may fear the worst, that combination of higher temperatures and lack of snow …. Well,
Bjorn, how does this morning find you?
Jorgensen: Yes, well you have anticipated correctly. The temperature at the summit this morning is just -3° Celsius, and I believe it’s safe to assume by the middle of the day we will see temperatures above freezing. Add to this there has been no snowfall for days. This is a little concerning.
Actually, you may be surprised to know we are just one degree below you presently, down the mountain from the summit.
Johannes: Is there no hope then, Bjorn?
Jorgensen: There is always hope. And then there are the snow cannons, if it’s hope for skiing. Really, when the sun is shining and the temperature rises above freezing, it can be an enjoyable day up on the mountain.
Johannes: Just not for the snow purist.
Jorgensen: Well, to tell you the truth here we are seven days into the Yule celebration, and while I would prefer more skiing, it’s busy enough around here .… Althea has me sharpening arrows out of ash, and she cooks rabbit stew in return.
The snowmen have been agitated since yesterday’s discussion. Dark whispers and cryptic statements beneath the tarp which I’ve thrown over them to reflect the sunlight and keep the temperature down. The warming temperature puts them in a bad mood.
Johannes: And Minerva?
Jorgensen: I believe she and Althea have a misunderstanding between them. She’s kept her distance when we see her, ski poling up the mountain and muttering to herself. I wave her over, but they trade insults, actually.
Johannes: Sounds hostile. Insults. Like what?
Jorgensen: Well, I don’t think I should add fuel to this fire, Johannes.
Althea: She’s a witch, Bjorn.
Jorgensen: She has sat at my fire during the Yule … and drank my mead.
Althea: Not like, she’s just a selfish, horrible woman, Bjorn. That old crone is an actual witch. She speaks with crows and snowdrifts. She kisses icicles and pets dirt.
Jorgensen: So you see, Johannes. She shouts when they see each other. And threatens her with her knife.
Althea: I know where she’s hiding her broomstick.
Jorgensen: Superstition travels like a shadow alongside our species.
Althea: She cackles at the memories of house fires and smears lard in her hair. You have three talking snowmen under a tarp, and I’m some sort of ignorant rube?
Johannes: She’s got a point.
Jorgensen: Now, this is not what I would say. Should I stir the stew?
Althea: You wouldn’t know a brogue from a burr.
Johannes: Well, there she goes.
Jorgensen: She has a very colorful accent.
Johannes: That’s a brogue.
Days of relative warmth ahead and a sighing southerly wind.
Join the family! 
