Baby, It's Cold Outside

The first snowstorm of the winter season. Much feared and anticipated, it was a bit of a lunchbag letdown, in spite of the breathless-with-enthusiasm forecast by the suits on the weather channel.

I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of the wind, rattling and moaning in the trees around us, all bluff and bluster, like the wolf to our Red Riding Hood. All its huffing and puffing was to naught. The cats and dog and Dave and I were snug in our beds and the wind would not have its way with us, not on this night.

There is something comfortable about sleeping in an old house. If nothing has knocked it down over decades of thunderstorms, hurricanes, tornadoes and blizzards, there's a pretty good chance nothing will in the next day or so. 

(Knock on wood.)

When we bought our cabin on the river we were told it was "historic" but we had no clue about its real age. We figured that maybe it was built in the 1930s or 40s. So when we received a statement from the taxman, we were startled to see the date it was built.

1880.

Isn't that incredible?

From what we've heard, Bracebridge wasn't settled until the 1860s. Which means our small cabin was probably among the first in the area. Likely a trapper's shack or a logger's home, but I'm just guessing. When I get a chance, I want to go to the land registry office and find out more.

That bit of detective work will have to wait, however, until I get a day off when the office is actually open. 

In the meantime, I daydream about who has lived in this house in the last 129 years.

Dave and I count ourselves lucky to be among them.

I've decided to try and take a different photo of the neighbourhood every day, as an exercise in both weather-watching and photography. Today's photo was taken by Dave in the morning. He's been home with a back injury, so he was able to take it when I was still at work. The wind and snow were just howling when he wandered out for a look around and photographed the Black Bridge. When we first saw this house last spring we fell for it. Hard. And this bridge was the first thing we fell in love with. I remember we drove around a corner and saw this magnificent old bridge and we both sighed with pure and simple longing. On maps it is called the Black Bridge and, even in the throes of the first snowstorm of this winter season, it stands tall, dark and handsome.

P.S. Thank you, Paula, for your comments. I miss you, too, and I wonder how you're getting your euchre fix. I think of your quick to-the-roots blush, and your no-holds laugh and your sharkiness around the euchre table. And I'm wondering how you're enjoying your Oriental salad and your Coke, and if you and Pamela have somehow skinnivered a game... maybe with Brent and Tamara? I know, skinnivered isn't a word. That's why I put it in here! Happy proofreading, Blondie! Say hi to everyone.