Dec. 22-27, 2014

Heap on more wood! The wind is chill,

But let it whistle as it will,

We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.

-Sir Walter Scott

Lunar phase and lore

The Marauding Mouse Moon was new on Dec. 21. Lunar lore says this phase of the moon makes mice, fish and game a little hungrier than usual near midday – and especially as the Christmas cold front approaches.

The dark  moon, lying in Pisces Dec. 25-28 and in Taurus from Dec. 29-31, favors the seeding of bedding plants and the forcing of bulbs indoors.

Weather trends

Highs in the 50s or 60s are more likely on Dec. 23-24 than on most December days, such warmth occurring 20 percent of the years. Christmas Eve brings precipitation 50 percent of all the years, but a white Christmas comes more like 35 percent of the time (since sometimes that precipitation arrives in the form of rain).

Christmas is generally cold and partly sunny, snow remaining on the ground 3-4 years in 10. The arrival of the fifth high-pressure system of the month on or about Dec. 25 often brings snow accumulation (or at least flurries), and chances for highs in the 50s or 60s are only 5-10 percent. One Christmas in a quarter-century remains below zero.

The natural calendar

Dec. 22: Winterberry branches are dropping their fruit, and bittersweet hulls continue to split away from their branches.

Dec. 23: The appearance of camel crickets or Asian lady beetles in the last week of December is said to forecast good luck in the year ahead.

Dec. 24: Today the sun starts its ascent toward June, shifting from a declination of 23 degrees, 26 minutes to 23 degrees, 25 minutes. Although the days do not start to lengthen at the same rate at different locations in the United States, Dec. 24 is the first day of the season during which the sun appears to rise a little higher each day.

Dec. 25: Mark the deepest incursion of the sun through one of your south windows today. A pencil mark on the floor or wall will provide a comforting measure of the advance of spring, not only in your home but in all of North America.

Dec. 26: The snow and the overwintering robins pull off the last honeysuckle berries.

Dec. 27: Across coastal Georgia, sweet gums and yellow poplars finally lose their leaves, and their buds swell almost immediately to replace the loss.

Dec. 28: After a mild December, snowdrops and a few daffodils have grown up a couple of inches in the yard. Purple deadnettle has expanded into mounds, and the most precocious pussy willows have cracked.

Dec. 29: Sometimes after a windy Christmas or New Year’s storm, orange polygonia butterflies are shaken from their overwintering quarters and may appear on the south side of your house if the sun is warm.

Almanac literature

Great American Story Contest entry

My Companion

By Andrea Watercutter

St. Henry, Ohio

By the time I turned 7 years old, my family had owned our beagle, Hank, for at least nine years. As a result, Hank became a primary aspect in my childhood.

In the summer, days would pass when I would sit with my companion or attempt teaching him how to fetch, roll over or “shake” my hand. But to no avail. I could not teach my old dog new tricks, no matter how much time I spent with him.

With days passing quickly, Hank became my comrade and playmate. He was a highlight of my childhood. But indubitably, life had already made plans for my friend to leave me, and it was earlier than I expected.

In the winter of 2004, when I was about 8, my companion “ran away.” After a day or two passed, I declared Hank was just lost and would return soon, but he did not reappear for a long time. Those days transitioned into weeks, and those weeks turned into a month.

After two weeks, my family began to state bluntly how my companion had left and would not return. As stubborn as my dog, I would not believe a single word. Day after day I hoped he would return and adamantly refused to believe he would have left without saying good-bye.

Therefore, I waited. I waited. I waited approximately 40 days. Forty days of hoping, praying and avidly believing in my true friendship. Eventually, my comrade, my companion, my Hank, returned.

By all means, Hank was no longer the plump beagle I once knew. He was now a skinny dog with a twiggy body and eyes filled with desolation, but he was my comrade who had returned from the dead.

Apparently, on one of my dog’s travels he fell into a steer stall. The stall was located in a neighbor’s barn about a quarter-mile down the road, a neighbor who had traveled to Florida for the winter. Until the time of their return, Hank somehow survived and came back to me, his loving follower, and taught me a lesson.

Hank taught me hope. He taught me even in the darkest of times, there is a light at the end of a tunnel (however small that light may seem). Most importantly, though, he taught me everything is not always what it seems. Miracles happen and unexplainable situations occur, too, but with perseverance, anything is possible if you put your mind to it and believe.

In field and garden

Dec. 22: The period of winter stability is setting in. In most states, average high temperatures fluctuate only about two to three degrees between Dec. 21 and the approach of early spring in the third week of February.

Dec. 23: Force all the hardy bulbs you can for the cold days of January. If you haven’t already prepared bulbs, go out, dig up a few you can spare from your March or April garden and tell them it’s spring.

Dec. 24: Have all seeds ordered for starting under lights at January’s new moon (Jan. 20).

Dec. 25: Dec. 25-26 are historically some of the brightest days of December. It is not unusual for Dec. 27 to initiate a slight warming trend; as the New Year’s weather system approaches, however, the sky usually grows cloudy, making Dec. 28 one of the year’s gloomiest days.

Dec. 26: Be sure you are protecting your pesticides from winter cold. Check containers for the recommended temperature ranges for the products you have on hand.

Dec. 27: For deer, mating season is over. Whitetail bucks have their gray winter coats and are starting to drop their antlers.