Morning temperatures finally “warmed up” to less than arctic so I got out my snowshoes and wandered about the Hundred Acre Woods.
Being fine today doesn’t Mean Anything. It may hail a good deal tomorrow—blizzards and whatnot.
It appears the Woozels have been out again. Or maybe just some deer.
Winter fog makes everything seem fuzzy white. The rodeo grounds look much different than they do on a sweaty summer day.
Sometimes the fog lifts with the morning. Here we see a picturesque sunrise over our fair city’s sewage plant.
The same river that swamped the campgrounds was now almost frozen in its bed.
Freezing fog has the ability to crochet lace on every surface.
Even barbed wire fences appear like the doilies my grandma used to decorate her sofa.
On a side note my sourdough bread is looking and tasting better all the time.
I’ve had a lot of success since I figured out how to keep the rising dough warm by stashing it in a picnic cooler along with bottles full of hot water.