{"id":8541,"date":"2014-01-30T10:30:34","date_gmt":"2014-01-30T15:30:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/?p=8541"},"modified":"2014-01-30T10:36:44","modified_gmt":"2014-01-30T15:36:44","slug":"40-days-into-winter-a-poem-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/2014\/01\/30\/40-days-into-winter-a-poem-2\/","title":{"rendered":"40 days into winter, a poem"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"attachment_8534\" style=\"width: 362px\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\"><a href=\"http:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/files\/2014\/01\/6799400613_8531a9270f_z.jpg\"><img aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-8534\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\" wp-image-8534 \" alt=\"Photo: Jon Matthies\" src=\"http:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/files\/2014\/01\/6799400613_8531a9270f_z.jpg\" width=\"352\" height=\"512\" srcset=\"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/files\/2014\/01\/6799400613_8531a9270f_z.jpg 440w, https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/files\/2014\/01\/6799400613_8531a9270f_z-206x300.jpg 206w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 352px) 100vw, 352px\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-8534\" class=\"wp-caption-text\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.flickr.com\/photos\/jmatthies\/6799400613\/in\/photolist-bmQGV4-fPFMet-fJZxn5-dkDypU-dKXEp6-dJUxUZ-9mqFmA-e4M7Ve-cH9ouj-7AXYyf-ckJaTy-9oHBS4-e9qvGs-b4nPD4-9UugYg-9HKbn6\/\">Photo: Jon Matthies<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n<p>When our friend John Scarlett, a blacksmith and poet who lives in Rossie, sent this poem to a few friends this morning, I immediately asked if I could share it with others. Perfect as we approach the halfway point of winter&#8230;but who&#8217;s counting?<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><em>Losing Count<\/em><\/p>\n<p>by John Scarlett<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Each night I wake up<\/p>\n<p>two or three times<\/p>\n<p>to use the toilet<\/p>\n<p>and throw three or four chunks<\/p>\n<p>of firewood into the boxstove,<\/p>\n<p>making sure to pour<\/p>\n<p>four or more quarts of water<\/p>\n<p>into the big pot on top of the stove<\/p>\n<p>before returning to bed<\/p>\n<p>and before stopping to read<\/p>\n<p>the indoor and outdoor temperatures<\/p>\n<p>on the weather station<\/p>\n<p>and counting the number of hours<\/p>\n<p>since bedtime and until coffee.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Breakfast requires measuring<\/p>\n<p>exactly several cups of oatmeal and water<\/p>\n<p>and taking the correct number of pills<\/p>\n<p>from all of the bottles,<\/p>\n<p>precisely the same number<\/p>\n<p>(what a coincidence)<\/p>\n<p>as the twelve cleats around which<\/p>\n<p>I loop the laces<\/p>\n<p>of each calf high leather boot<\/p>\n<p>before walking one hundred and fifty yards<\/p>\n<p>to the barn to let out two oxen,<\/p>\n<p>throw them one bale of hay,<\/p>\n<p>and remove two wheelbarrow loads<\/p>\n<p>of manure<\/p>\n<p>and before returning to the house<\/p>\n<p>to fill three bird feeders<\/p>\n<p>and pull two hand-sled loads<\/p>\n<p>of firewood to the backdoor<\/p>\n<p>after having stopped to observe<\/p>\n<p>a dozen or so<\/p>\n<p>little brown rabbit pellets<\/p>\n<p>scattered by the wind<\/p>\n<p>across the fresh snow.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>Back inside I sit next to the stove<\/p>\n<p>to unhook in reverse order<\/p>\n<p>the frozen laces of the same boots,<\/p>\n<p>put on my two new slippers,<\/p>\n<p>and with the second cup of coffee<\/p>\n<p>gripped by five fingers<\/p>\n<p>of my right hand<\/p>\n<p>I may, if I remember to,<\/p>\n<p>stand facing the wall calendar<\/p>\n<p>with all its numbered boxes<\/p>\n<p>to make sure I am not<\/p>\n<p>somewhere other than where<\/p>\n<p>someone is counting<\/p>\n<p>on me to be.<\/p>\n<p>As my frozen beard<\/p>\n<p>drips into my cup<\/p>\n<p>I notice that in two days<\/p>\n<p>it will be January thirty-first,<\/p>\n<p>the day on which you are supposed<\/p>\n<p>to have used up no more than half<\/p>\n<p>your winter\u2019s supply<\/p>\n<p>of hay and wood<\/p>\n<p>and that in three or four weeks<\/p>\n<p>it will be time to hang<\/p>\n<p>several hundred buckets<\/p>\n<p>on the maple trees,<\/p>\n<p>about as many as the sheets of paper<\/p>\n<p>piling up beside<\/p>\n<p>Jack Nicholson\u2019s typewriter<\/p>\n<p>in <i>The Shining<\/i>.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>John Scarlett<\/p>\n<p>January 29, 2014<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>When our friend John Scarlett, a blacksmith and poet who lives in Rossie, sent this [&#8230;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":14,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8541"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/14"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8541"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8541\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8543,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8541\/revisions\/8543"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8541"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8541"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8541"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}