...and quite a bit of rain. Relatively warm today (which is good for mast painting), with the sun breaking through by late afternoon.

Inclement Weather

Pax and I are out walking this evening, just after sunset. The whole afternoon has been dank and foggy, and now ice is starting to crisp twig tips and fallen leaves. The damp cold comes right through my jacket, and my fingers are going numb inside my gloves.

Pax doesn’t usually mind this weather, but I begin to look forward to the end of our walk and coming back indoors, where the furnace, though not running much, has removed all traces of damp and chill, and where I can sit on a couch, read a good book, and sip a cup of hot tea.

But then I get to thinking about what it would be like if, rather than going inside, I stayed right here and, instead, traveled back in time.

I’d keep it mid-November (changing seasons is tricky) but I’ll go back a hundred years…so…

Pocketa, pocketa, queep.

Oh, this is different! My house isn’t here. I’m standing in a pile of frozen leaves near the bank of a small stream. The big willow and the three big oak trees I’m familiar with are still here, but there’s no street out front, and the only houses are a ways away, up on the main street. I can see a couple of lights off in the distance. It’s damp and cold.

Better get out of here, I think, before Pax and I freeze in place. Let’s try going back… another hundred years…and…

Pocketa, pocketa.

Well, this is different, but not that much. I’m still standing in a pile of frozen leaves. There’s nothing around me except trees, and nothing in sight except maybe the edge of a prairie off in the distance. I think I might recognize my three oaks and my willow, but if so, they’re just little saplings mixed in with lots of others. There are no lights and no sounds (except the crinkle of freezing leaves).

Better get out of here, I think. How about going back 500 years in time this time?

Pax does not object, so…

Pocketa, queep.

What? It doesn’t look all that different from when we just left! I’m still standing on a pile of frozen leaves, and I can’t see anything besides trees and maybe the prairie off in the distance. But wait, over towards the prairie we see something that looks like a long mound, and smoke is coming out of it.

It’s still dark, damp, and cold, but this looks interesting. Pax and I decide to head that way—to investigate.

We walk up to some kind of structure, not just a mound. As we get closer we can see it’s a long, domed building of some kind made of straight poles and bent poles with a roof and walls made of bark or reeds or some kind of mats. Out front is a kind of courtyard with benches and racks and a fire pit.

We seem to have scared the owners away because we have the place to ourselves.

While Pax sniffs around, I pull back the heavy leather flap that covers the opening at one end of the building. We step quietly inside. It’s dim and smoky, but we can see that three small fires are spaced in a row along the center, with the smoke curling upward to roof holes right above. Raised platforms run along both side-walls and these are covered with furs and are separated into “rooms” by mats hanging from cross-poles. Furs, and dried food, and sheaves of herbs or something, hang from the walls and ceiling. We look around but can’t see anything resembling a bathroom.

But it’s snug and cozy, and a wonderful shelter from the cold and damp. Maybe we should snuggle down here, I suggest, on one of the platforms, under one of the furs, and warm up.

Then Pax gives his leash a mighty tug— the kind of tug that says, “what are we doing here, just standing around in a freezing mist? Don’t you know we are right outside our house and it’s almost dinner time?”