Thanks for the polar vortex. First we get a fall so warm it feels like the impending doom it probably is, then we get a nasty cold front with a silly name. Vortex should be the name of my next vacuum cleaner, not our weather.
Three years ago when we moved here we bought an overly large, old house on the hillside, one of those houses people just shouldn’t buy unless they have already won the lottery or own a carpentry business. It was built in 1914 and still had the original insulation, which might be a blend of matted horse dung and asbestos. According to an energy specialist who inspected our place, ours wasn’t the most drafty house he had ever seen, but close. In addition to multiple air-leak points there is no insulation in the walls, which made it easy for the flying squirrels to run up and down and into the attic, we soon found out.
We finally found a recommended contractor who insulated our attic, the most important step. Put a good cap on it, they say. So now our house is like a naked person in a storm with a really good cap. But the squirrels are gone thanks to all the toxic fluff up there now, and we sleep much better.
Yesterday I walked the streets and shore even with the windchill approaching absolute zero, all in order to take a few photographs of who knows what. Winter, in truth, is just getting started. The lake is still liquid and the snow barely there.