Mon pays ce n’est pas un pays, c’est l’hiver
Mon jardin ce n’est pas un jardin, c’est la plaine
Mon chemin ce n’est pas un chemin, c’est la neige
Mon pays ce n’est pas un pays, c’est l’hiver.
Or so it was at 5:51 this morning:
Truer words rarely written in a more horrendous song, which I link to, just to prove I am not casting aspersions lightly:
I had to look up plaine, et ca veut dire, helpfully, plain. And perhaps mine is one. And chemin means street or path, and it sure is neige, lots and lots of neige, and not very much path.
Why, one often wonders [for six straight months, ed.], does one choose to live in such an interesting and challenging environment? Because my wise ancestors sought a better place to live, and apparently a frozen bog that is a haven for biting insects in the spring and summer, and plunges into a deep freeze for about 4 solid months in winter, is the best place they could find.
Makes one think about what they must have left behind. My maternal grandfather, he of the carbuncle and mediaeval tastes, was hired from the University of Manchester to come to the Mediaeval Institute at the University of Toronto because he was a heathen, essentially, and the place was becoming (apparently, this was back in the 1930’s, so all apocryphal now) a bit of a catholic theology school rather than an historical institute. Paternally, it was totally economics, leaving behind poverty in Scotland for a truly better life in Toronto.
Sitting on the shore of the Ottawa River one evening in the winter, my hubby and I tried to imagine what it would have been like to arrive in a ship in Montreal in the early 1600’s and be amongst the first to spend a winter on that island in the St. Lawrence, with no possibility of returning home for months and months, and very little else, either to eat or stay warm with. Why would one do that? Why get so darn cold? Was Europe a total hell hole?
Last summer I read a most amazing book by and about Mina Hubbard, who went to map out a significant part of Labrador in 1905, returning to complete a journey that her husband had failed to complete, having starved and frozen to death after getting lost in the wilderness.
She returned with the same indian guide, George, who also wrote an account of the voyage, possibly to make sure his reputation was not questioned, re the dead husband on the first journey, or the warm relationship with the widow on the second. Her husband’s journal is also available, as George was able to lead a rescue party, too late, back to Mina’s husband. The three stories together make a compelling read, and have been recently published together [with an introduction to make even the most dedicated academic question academia, especially interpretations of photography from a weird inclusive vs penetrating angle which makes one squirm uncomfortably, ed.] in this fabulous volume:
It was an amazing thing to want to do. She gets a little hagiographic when eulogizing her dead [and possibly idiotic and irritating, ed.] husband, but her courage and enterprise and stamina are incredible. While it is true she doesn’t paddle, and the two men do the vast majority of physical labour, for a woman of her day it is remarkable and she tromps untiringly along with them.
If you are feeling a little whiney about your physical comforts, I highly recommend it as an antidote. Her tent was made of silk, if I remember correctly, and I still don’t understand why they didn’t freeze to death, unable to stay dry. But she wrote the book so you know she made it, so it isn’t much of a spoiler.
A lot has changed in the century since Mina set out to map Labrador, driven by a spirit that awes me, as I sit on my comfy couch with gas furnace and down and Gortex everywhere. She isn’t in many of the photographs, as she was holding the camera most of the time, but here she is, surveying her gear before setting out into the truly unknown, from the Northwest River Post:
And she loved dogs and tea. What a gal.
Good stuff there, xty. I’ve done some genealogy stuff, and yes it appears that it generally was hell holes they left behind, though largely of the economic/freedom variety for mine. Meaning, there wasn’t any. Germany, Poland, Bohemia, Ireland…yikes. The prospect of perhaps actually owning your own land in Wisconsin, even if it was boggy or rocky or sandy as hell, was irresistable. Winter and/or mosquitoes be damned.
And…Happy Woden’s Day everyone!
http://runewisdom.wordpress.com/2011/09/21/wednesday-wodens-day/
http://www.northernpaganism.org/shrines/odin/about.html
And…First!
Lifted from Josh Brown this morning, “Two-Word Investment Outlooks”
“Opportunity abounds” – long-only equity guy
“Stockpicker’s market” – asset management firm
“Risks remain” – guy who runs a Black Swan fund
“Expect volatility” – trader
And a bunch more. I think you get the idea.
http://www.thereformedbroker.com/2013/11/27/two-word-investment-outlooks-3/
Here is a history that I enjoyed reading when it was initially published in the Wisconsin Magazine of History, back in 1986. I have the originals but found a link to it online.
It consists of 5 years worth of letters home written by a Danish woman and her Swedish husband (a Moravian Church minister) who came to Ephraim, Wisconsin in 1884. Ephraim is in Door county, on the shores of Lake Michigan. Their tales of daily life and of raising their family are quite compelling. I remember it being a pretty good page turner, with a lot of it being about how cold it was, and watching their little boy grow.
At first I thought the link was too clunky to use, but now that I have figured out a few things it becomes quite readable. You can expand the frame (pull the little tab thing at the bottom) to fit an entire page of the magazine image, and then go page by page with the links along the right hand side.
Here is the link directly to Part 1:
http://content.wisconsinhistory.org/cdm/ref/collection/wmh/id/36152
And links to Parts 2-4 are here:
http://search.library.wisc.edu/catalog/ocn780089875
I haven’t read this since 1986, and I think I’ll sit now and enjoy. Have a great day all.
Why, indeed? Always was, always will be. Dreamers: “May we not form a little world of our own, where neither religious, political, nor money-making fanaticism…shall ever obtain admission?” Stephen Austin
Doesn’t matter where, there are those here on Earth now who would willingly colonize Mars. Not me, it’s even colder there.
The cold sure doesn’t bother Ozzie. Our two mile walk was certainly brisk this morning, and wouldn’t you know- we usually have our road all to ourselves- today just happened to be the day that we encountered two neighbors, one right after the other, who wanted to yak while all toasty in their warm vehicles.
Warning though, Part 1 starts with 10 pages of background info before the first letter from Anna to her Mother, from onboard the ship.
Feeling snarky and sending one out to all the dead-enders grimly holding on to dying blogs of yesteryear.
Waitin’ on a day when those blogs go dark. And look at the numbers. It’s getting closer every day. 😆
The Trend is Our Friend, bitchezzz….. 😆
i almost posted this over there, but what’s the point? the demographic is dying, and so are the right-wing blogs with it. it really is a shame what happened since that is not the blog we used to contribute to, and plenty of us expressed our concerns long before it got to this point.
hope to post some more tonight here, but if i don’t, Happy Thanksgiving, to all of you!
check out the bass player at 5:11
edit: oops, didn’t realize it wouldn’t come out of the playlist. 8th song down, Albert King
kind of a long short week for me, new (refurbished ) macbook in close proximity, so much to learn…hugs to all.
if you don’t figure it out right away i know the kind of stuff you like.
pete goes “on topic” and displays a lighthouse, yep. ➡
perfect night for a blazing fire(chimney ablaze stuff)..traveling in the morning w/my mum…and tunes run through my head sometimes so fast.
ain’t gonna try to over green the woodpecker, nope. 
One for our host.
damn it eo! as my eyes well up…stop this before it goes too far.
tied to the mast,
just scored..awaiting moderation (xty please look)…did we blow up the sound system?
Happy Thor’s Day, everyone. And Turkey Day as well.
For months here, my brother and sister-in-law had steadfastly maintained that Thanksgiving would be at their house. None of us felt it would happen. Their house is a mess. Like hoarders, literally. Last night Mrs. O went there to help get ready and saw how bad things were. So, at the last minute, plans are changed and Turkey Day will now be at OUR house. They are supposedly still bringing the turkey. We’ll believe it when we see it. We are sure we’ll be eating late. No matter. We’ll just drink until the bird arrives.
http://runewisdom.wordpress.com/2011/09/22/thursday-thors-day/
http://www.northernpaganism.org/shrines/thor/who-is-thor.html
And needless to say, our house is now in an uproar of last minute cleaning and preparation. Ay yi yi…
Know exactly what you mean EO. Wife’s brother’s wife is a doozie. Supposed to have Xmas at their house one year and she “fell” and dislocated her shoulder Xmas Eve. She doesn’t even try any more and won’t let anyone into her house. Our son was over there once helping his uncle and needed to use the bathroom. She would not even let him in.
So everything is here every year. Trying to stay out of the wife’s way today but I did help yesterday by peeling 20 potatoes.
Hey, I’m even rooting for the Packers today as the lesser of two evils.
Xty- as soon as I read “contorta” the same question sprang immediately to mind.
And yes, the Hubbard book is right up my alley and will be added to my reading list.
Regina Botkin. . . .
Surely just as well, but . . . hmm.. I don’t know.