There is no use arguing with the inevitable. The
only argument available with an East Wind is
to put on your overcoat.  James Russell Lowell

Every year when the Oysterville Church flag is retired for the  winter, I am lulled into thinking that it’s a good thing.  Otherwise the flag will be whipped to rags by the winds and rains of winter.  What I forget each year is how much I depend on that flag to keep me oriented — not to home and country (although perhaps that, too) but to the weather and what is about to befall as the wintery weather comes full bore upon us!  Over the years it has become automatic to glance out the dining room windows in the morning and make a mental note of the flag’s “weather report.”  And, I might add, to prepare accordingly.

Moonrise Over Willapa Bay

From the west:  batten down the hatches, get the rain gear ready but hope for the best.  Sometimes gray skies disappear in the afternoonwith blue skies and fluffy white clouds promising a sunset to remember.

From the southwest — stormy days ahead, sometimes with few breaks.  And from the north — colder, clearer, but usually not so long lasting — not until the dead of winter is over.

But those east winds!  Oh my.  They come roaring across the bay and right through our wall and windows — never mind the spaces aroud the doors and sills where we try to keep the wind at bay, so to speak.  In it comes, anyway.  We close off the east rooms, build a fire in the libraru, crank the heat up notch upon notch and huddle under a down comforter.

Last Night’s Cozy Fire

A heating pad gets the bed ready — IF the power stays on.  We’ve been known to heat up cast iron pans in the firplace, wrap them in blankets and use them as bedwarmers when the power is out.  Oh! Oh! Oh!  How I miss my warm-bodied Nyel to snuggle up to!

In case you wondered:  there are 128 days until Spring.