On The Mark: There's a lot to love about wild weather

I admit to being a lifelong winter lover. When voluptuous snow blew down from the north this past weekend, I watched whorls of powder surf off the garage peak. Coming home from the morning walk, I did outdoor chores with gusto. Hauling in a sled of peeled and split poplar from our shed. Shoveling our walkway. Filling three seed feeders, beefing up our suet offerings, and filling the nut butter tower that friend Arnold Collman made for us one Christmas. Stocked the wood stove and set it afire, coaxing it with a thin wedge of air.

Next, the turkey soup ritual. Greasing up my hands by extracting meat from the carcass. Piling skin and bones into a huge kettle along with gravy remains, onions, root vegetables and savory spices. Letting it simmer for hours, aromas diffusing through the house.

All the while, our home fills with light and the drama of blowing snow. I pause to watch birds swoop onto the feeders. Chickadees, nuthatches, downy and hairy woodpeckers. And a remarkable sighting early in the day - a goldfinch diving for black sunflower seeds. Under our feeders, a single skinny grey squirrel scrounges for seed droppings. I marvel that these tiny creatures can survive a blizzard. I posted Instagram photos of our white whirling world and its bird explorers.

I love how a winter snowstorm stops all traffic. No snowplows came through until well after midday Sunday. Churches canceled services. Delightfully snowbound.After a call to our most senior family member to ensure that she was safe and warm, we hunkered down to clean house, make calls, play the piano and guitar, plan for the rest of the month. I began calculating how hard it would be for me to retrieve my skis from the old barn a mile from here. Kicked myself for not planning ahead.

November was a fabulous month for lake skaters. A serious student of ice depths, I figured out when our Cromwell area lakes achieved 3 inches and ventured out. Before any snow fell, I cruised multiple afternoons around Cromwell Lake on my figure skates. One day I toured the perimeter of Island Lake, the surface a bit bumpy. Even after an inch of snow, I could skate.

A few years ago, Dr. Vickie Anderson lectured me about delaying an exam, which revealed a tiny wrist fracture. Now I take the time to don elbow, wrist and knee pads, designed for inline skaters, but just as useful for ice. Oh, and ice picks around my neck, just in case I have to pull myself out, and my cell phone in a deep pocket.

Who among us cannot feel the joy of a white world, the dark tree trunks sporting vests and drapes of white? The Jack Frost on our windows, inimitable artworks.

Some may experience snow as a narrower of our world and harbinger of hard work: shoveling, scraping snow off car windows, clambering up roofs to jettison snow. I admit to not loving late winter, with its soiled snow and frozen gardens. But for me, our unapologetic winters are invitations to outdoor exercise and indulgence in a magically transformed landscape, even if just through the window. For all of us, I wish for a sparkling winter and warmth, company, music and good cheer.

Anne Markusen is an economist and professor emerita at University of Minnesota. A Pine Knot board member, she lives north of Cromwell.