The view from our front walk here at Totliegh-in-the-Wold this morning just before 10:30am.
Meanwhile, at Totleigh-in-the-Wold life is good and we are enjoying the winter with cold, snow, and fires on the hearth during the evenings. Tonight, the Grand Duchess and I will play a game or two of Scrabble and enjoy something medicinal, which should help my game. Immeasurably. Sittangbad E-fight and soldier painting updates to follow this weekend. Happy Friday everyone!
Saturday Morning Update. . .
Thank you for your kind words men. The deer here do eat things from the flower and vegetable gardens we have been advised, so I am unsure what the Grand Duchess will do when she plants a vegetable garden next summer. Bambi and his droogs do, however, seem to leave hasta and ivy alone, since there is a lot of both in the beds, and it looked rather nice when we first viewed and visited the house last September. The huge storm is, sadly, well to the south and east of us here in Michigan, threatening parts of the South and Middle Atlantic states. For instance, my old stomping grounds in southeastern Pennsylvania outside of Philadelphia is/was, according to yesterday's predictions, supposed to get hammered with heavy snowfall.
However, so often the national and local news media get people all whipped up about an approaching weather 'event' that, when it finally happens, hardly meets everyone's worried expectations. I am always amused when a large winter storm is predicted here in the U.S., and people haul off to the supermarket in a tizzy to stock up on three items: milk, bread, and, oddly, toilet paper. I'll leave it to readers to figure out why the third ietem seems to figure so prominently in people's minds. I used to notice this odd behavior during winters years ago when I worked in such a super market back in Pennsylvania, and I have seen similar habits in Wisconsin, Minnesota, Illinois, and now Michigan. It is as if people think, somehow, they will be snowed in for the winter when two or three inches of snow are predicted. We are, indeed, a bizarre life-form.
The Grand Duchess begged off the Scrabble game last night, but we did sit and chat about this and that before the fire after supper with a bit af apricot brandy and coffee to start, followed later by a finger of Laphroig for each of us and an old episode of Inspector Morse on Netflix along with his wonderful Sergeant Lewis. I don't think I was awake for more than two minutes after switching off the bedside lamp.
In the other direction, part of our wold as we walk to the driveway and the street where the Young Master catches the school bus each morning.
And our woods behind the house, from which millions of deer spring as soon as the sun sets. I've only seen two during the day since we moved into the house, but there are loads of fresh tracks in the snow each morning. So, they are watching. Oh, yes. They are watching.