The Indianapolis journal., 1902-01-19
THE JANUARY PRELUDE.

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there is nothing more absorbingly Interest,"
+ ing and more surprising than that vague
/ and elusive season commonly called win
ter. This beautiful compound OF keen
winds, gray clouds brown fields. bare trees.
frozen brooks and scant sunshine. accord
ing TO the calendar, takes effect after mid
December and abldes. clustering, biting
and growing. between earth and sky. until
mid-March. Ancient Janus Quadrifons,
with kingly authority. divided his temple
OF the seasons into four sections OF three
months each: and with those time-honored
departments OF weather man is supposed
not TO meddle. AS profound immovable
fact, however, winter is arrant de-
lusion, taken by and large. as any other
distorted tradition with which the human
mind has TO reckon. BY the cold. rigid
rule Of commonsense. winter is winter; but
by the more lax and beautiful measuring
ribbon of fancy. winter IS a mere matter OF
movable temperature-a loosely constructed
/ fabric of spasmodic frosty weather. inter-
woven with many curious and agreeable
mitigating conditions.
To know "Old Hyems" at his best. leave
\ him, now and then, in town-with his. icy
crown" his beard weighted Of snow. and
/ his great coat pockets full OF coal bills
/ and seek him by the countryside, where
/ he seems to cast aside his harsher moods
/ and let his gentler nature revel AT
I superficial glance winter in the country
4 would appear in it's most severe and stub
/ born estate; but, in reality, natures gra-
/ cious tokens Of hope and OF relief are there
/ most literally distributed. Days there are.
/ indeed when the country dweller blows
/ upon his stiffened fingers after he has
skurried into the house fiSm barn or shed.
with Boreas searching his breast and ex-
claims: "Ah, this is winter" other days
4 there are however when he lifts his eyes
/ TO far fields of sunny blue sky, fiecked
/ with fair, white clouas-while softened
1 breezes caress his brow and cheeks-and is
/ fain TO say, or even sigh: "Ah, is this win
! ter?''
/ On the face OF things during these winter
/ days natures world seems locked in rest.
/ All the outbuildngs on Farmer Johns
/ perfect little hilltop farm-the barns, the
! sheds. the wagon house, the corncrib and
/ the fruit shanties are tightly closed. From
the barn windows only now and then the
/ horses Andy. Dolly and Ben, stick out
/ their noses TO the frosty air; only now and
/ then. too. on a fine bright day do they ven-
| ture out for a scamper down the long lane
! or a good wild whrl in the oak woods The
! COWS only occasionally come out to medi-
/ tate a little while in the airy lane behind
the barn: better they like their cozy stalls
! inside where hay is plentiful and warm
beds are near Even Shepherd, the yellow
! dog, cares only for occasional chase in
the cold, nosing along in the barren fence
/ corners and under the edges of the six big
! haystacks which stand in line near the old
white oak tree. When he barks TO be let
| into the house he means it, and there he
sleeps away the unnumbered hours before
the fire, rousing only when Mistress Eliza
beth winds the clock at bedtime. Then he
rushes out, .barks bit at the new or old
| moon frozen i'm the maple treetops and
dashes around the house into his kennel,
burrowing deep into his bed Of clean au-
tumn leaves
Almost the only steady outdoor country
sound in early January is the woodchopper
-chopping away at the monster wood
pile, as big as the shed and as tall as the
old pear trees near it, His axe rings clear
and loud, and the freshly cut chips diffuss
daily a delightful homely odor.
Since the shortest day i'm the year the
farm has been turning nearer TO the sun:
and after the first below-zero weather the
its weaver's shuttle. Only in the larger
details exists the beautiful hush which
seemed to pervade the face of outdoor farm
life For a few short weeks farm work
has been laid aside; now it is taken UP
again-the story of another busy year is
begun. Again is the peach crop killed: ana
in the ruddy brown orchards-beautifuI in
their hlmy shadows on the russet earth
and in their rich-tinted glow against the
azure sky-already the long ladders lean
against the trees. Farmer John is out
again; and under his directions David and
VIII are making big brush heaps of the
dead limbs and cutting back the young
trees for another season OF growth and
recuperation.
Down I'm the woods. autumn passed three
months ago. but the brown and wine-col-
ored leaves of the great oaks have not lost
in color. Here the winds, too, are busy
with their winter farm work They heap
the bare hedges knee-deep with the beauti-
full oak leaves; whrled against them IN
warm banks and deftly packed IN the open
spaces with sagacious care.
AS the days grow steadily longer. there
are more hours i'm which TO note this visible
myth of winter. Here and there comes a
high blue January day. tossed in between
the cold days; and then winged things
creep out and fly tauntingly around I'm the
upper world-now a great. saucy blue-bottls
fly, now a frail and wandering white butter
fly. Already is Alice's new red raspberry
patch plowed up and under; and already.
snatching at every clear day. is the market
gardener stirring his burrows and spreading
fertilizing cover on the cold. rough earth.
As January-bleak. maligned January
reaches his midday mark a great SAP
sucker comes and hammers hard with his
long bin on the maple trees, at the very
house door Nine big round holes he drills
in the bark, and the sugar-sap flows freely.
making the gray tree-trunks moist in large
blackened patches All day long even on
the cold, cold days, the misty blue hills
speak across distance with the soft. elo-
quent silence. OF last October-or. is IL In
hopeful vision Of balmy-breathing May9
After sunset all over the hills outlined
darkly against the sky the sweet home-
lights OF scattered dwellings fash out:
silent nreside signals answer 10 silent fire.
side signals: here I'm high tower. there IN
a low-roofed cottage; from the laborer's