Fearful Symmetries: The Corona Diaries Vol. 81: The Sound of Ice

(late-December 2022)

It was about a week after I got back from Stevens Point green with envy over the snow they had gotten that we down here in Madison experienced our first major snowfall of the season. And so it was off to Acewood Park to enjoy it.

It was right around freezing and so the snow was wet and heavy with big flakes pelting my face and threatening to soak through my hat. I tried to take photographs quickly before my camera and phone became covered in slush.

As I was walking along the path, I saw several birds flying from tree to tree, most way up in the bare canopies. While I took many photographs hoping to see what species they were and perhaps match them to a winter survival scheme that I had read about in Winter World (from last entry), most of them were out of focus or suffered from motion blur.

Except this one.

That’s a mourning dove. Winter survival strategy: unknown. It just seemed content to sit on the branch, snowstorm be damned.

Since I see them a lot, I would guess that they are the kind of bird that eats all day to fatten up in time for bed.

Although it was cloudy and grey out, the Acewood Arch still looked lovely to me.

I walked out behind the cattails on the south side of the park and saw an area in which they were matted down. Perhaps it was the bed of a deer. I followed a ditch out of the wetland which led through a wooded area towards another bit of wetland before ending at a pond. Just before a culvert I spied something odd on a tree. I moved in a little closer to see what it was but I couldn’t make it out. So I made a bee line for the tree. Finally, once my face was inches away from it, I was able to identify what the thing was that had caught my attention.

A trail cam. I presume the city is looking to get a handle on the wildlife that live in the park. Some poor employee of the Parks division is in for a shock when they watch the footage and are confronted by my disheveled, unshaven face in extreme close-up, icicles hanging from my moustache and a perplexed look with eyes squinting as they peer over my glasses.

Farther down the ditch were more cattails.

I made my way back to Acewood pond and stepped out onto the ice. It cracked beneath my feet revealing that a thin layer of it covered frozen mud. I looked out and saw spots on the ice where water was bubbling up.

I continued walking on the frozen surface, not too far from shore, and my footfalls caused 2 types of noises. First was the expected cracking of ice that we are used to hearing when we trudge along sidewalks that our neighbors couldn't be bothered to shovel after the last snowstorm or when we select crushed ice from our refrigerator's icemaker for that refreshing gin & tonic after a hard day at the office.

SCRUNCH!

Second was the sound of cracks radiating out from where my foot had fallen and sounding like tightly strung wires loosed from their moors.

P-YOO!

As this latter sound became more common, I got nervous. To quote Ernest Shackleton, "Well, that just doesn't sound good." Feeling a general sense of apprehension, I figured that I should head back to the shore. I turned and took a couple of strides before

CRACK!

My right leg went through the ice and into the mud up to just above my knee. This was swiftly followed by my left leg plunging through the ice but it didn’t sink quite as deep.

Well crap.

I hope I didn't drop down onto a sleeping turtle.

What was the worst that could happen? I’d call the non-emergency police number and they'd send a fire fighting crew to pull me out after they had finished laughing. But that was only what a small part of me was thinking. The much larger part was convinced that I had become like that guy in Jack London’s “To Build a Fire” and that this was the end of me. My legs would freeze solid and some jogger would find my corpse in the spring and see the evidence of what turtles do when they're pissed off because you stepped on them when they were trying to hibernate.

As it happened, I managed to crawl out fairly easily. I beat a hasty retreat to my car and went home to change and put my clothes in the washer. But it had been a wonderful walk nonetheless.

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Just about a week ago, nearly 6 months after a tree had fallen and totaled my neighbor's house, a crew was seen out there demolishing it.

For reasons unknown, they left a couple of walls standing which it seems they’re going to keep. Which means he is rebuilding.

I didn't realize he had no basement. A small house, no basement yet it was still probably worth $250,000 in this market.

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Food! Having bought that rhubarb BBQ sauce in Stevens Point, I decided to make ribs. I began by whipping up a dry rub.

I made these in the oven so they got the rub and were then lovingly placed in a baking dish along with some beer and cooked low & slow until tender. I then sauced half of them and let them sit under the broiler for a short while to caramelize/get crispy. They didn’t turn out half bad. The sauce was good. It had a nice tartness and tanginess to it and wasn’t like eating corn syrup. But my dry rub needs work. I want to work on it so it's less chili powdery and more, um, something else. Maybe lean on the paprika and garlic & onion powder a bit more.

My Frau made macaroni & cheese with pimentos to go along with the ribs and we had one of those bagged salads made of shredded broccoli. So it was a kinda sorta healthy dinner.

I also recently cooked some artichoke spinach chicken which the Frau had found the recipe for. Here are the ingredients. Well, most of those are. Lemon curd - those jars with the gingham lids that look like they were processed by a French grandmother - was not an ingredient. Neither were those 2 cans of cat food.

We’ve got chicken breasts, cream cheese, lots of garlic, artichoke hearts, spinach (not shown), sour cream, chicken broth, salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes. Did I mention garlic?

My Frau will stand for no less than twice the garlic called for by a recipe. I don't know how she developed this garlic addiction. It's gone from simply having multiple heads of the stuff on hand at all times to buying a ceramic garlic roaster and, most recently, a tube of minced garlic that I think was 50% off at the Dollar Store. I pray it doesn't go any further lest she commission garlic artwork or some such thing.

This recipe is all done in one pan which makes clean up easier. It turned out well.

Back in October, I read about a new restaurant that had opened just north of us called La Pollera Colombiana which specializes in Columbian roasted chicken. I immediately thought to myself, “Ooh! I have no idea what makes roasted chicken Colombian but we’ve got to try that place out.”

Well, October came and went without us going. November did the same. Then in the middle of this month it hit me, this craving for roasted chicken. I felt like a junkie climbing up a wall unable to get his fix. So one evening, I jumped in my car and drove there.

While a few Columbian touches were to be had, the interior wasn’t radically different from its predecessor, Om (Indian) Fusion.

But it had a warm and cozy feel to it on a blustery late fall evening. I let things get out of control and ended up ordering too much food so we had plenty of leftovers.

We had roasted chicken – delicious! – grilled skirt steak (also delicious) along with grilled potatoes, fried plantains, beans, and rice (delectable, tasty, yummy, and tastilicious). It was a fine, hearty meal that really hit the spot. I had been quite hungry and just kind of gobbled it down not really trying to discern the flavors. And so I look forward to a return visit so I can try to figure out what seasonings were used on the chicken and just what makes it Columbian style.

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In the middle of the month we got a big storm that covered the ground in a new layer of pristine white. It was gorgeous outside.

As you can see, whatever the survival strategy of the neighborhood birds was, chowing down at our backyard feeder in the wake of the storm was not it.

After work the next day, I went for a walk around the neighborhood. One of the great benefits of working from home is to be able to logoff, put on my boots, and immediately be outside on a stroll.

Not too cold out and just lovely.

I walked by this one house and noticed the tree out front still had berries on it.

“Ooh! I know this one!”

Winter World had a section on winter berries. They weren’t holly but rather something cranberries. I couldn’t remember the name and so looked it up when I got home. Highbush cranberries. Now, in the tree in the backyard of the house next door to this one I spied a flock of hungry birds who were getting impatient with the human.