Feathered hope

Backyard bird watching and feeding are said to be among most popular pastimes in America. Birds are, after all, entertaining. They offer variety, action, even comedy as they jockey for position on your feeder or wander your lawn and shrubs, in search of a bite to eat.

In winter, though, they also offer a bit of hope. When the winds are blowing, the snow is falling, the temperatures hover around zero, and even squirrels are hidden in their nests, the sight of chickadees, titmice, jays, and juncos flitting around outside your window bring a lot of action to an otherwise lifeless landscape.

But real excitement comes when, in the middle of winter, a robin shows up in a bush or a bluebird at the feeder. While these birds are symbols of warmer times, many spend all winter in the North, mostly off in wetlands where there’s a bounty of berries and seeds to eat. However, a good storm may bring them to your yard in search of food and perhaps shelter.

And in their blue backs and red breasts, we get glimpses of the spring to come, when the full array of life will return to our now barren landscape.

Uncomfortable cold

Temperatures have dipped into the teens, and ice is forming on ponds. Yes, we’re finally feeling cold.

What we’re feeling, though, is nothing like what folks used to feel.

The people who settled New England experienced cold as you would never want to. In January and February, frigid air was a 24/7 phenomenon inside most houses, which were inefficiently heated and poorly insulated.

Until the arrival of central heating in the late 19^th Century, houses were often iceboxes in winter. It was not unusual to have the water in the house turn to ice overnight and to have snow leak through windows and stay frozen on the floor. Frostbite was a problem not only outside, but indoors, where bedroom temperatures could approach zero. And let’s not even think of what outhouses were like.

So as your nose and fingers tingle and your breath freezes in front of you when you leave your well-heated home, take a moment to remember those hardy people who came before us and who knew few comforts at this time of year.

The door

Most months have dumb names, honoring egotistical emperors and long-dead gods, or saying they are the 10^th when they are the 12^th. But at least January makes a statement.

Centuries before the Christian era, a king named Numa Pompilius decided the Roman world needed more months than the 10 it had. So he added two and, unlike Julius Caesar and Augustus, was modest enough to keep his name off both. The first, placed at the beginning of the year, was named for Janus, the god of doors. Yes, back then, even doors had a god.

But to old Numa, this was appropriate. January opened the door to the new year, so why not have Janus there to make sure we didn’t trip over the threshold.

And it sure beats the old Saxon name for the month. They called it Wolf-monat because that’s when wolves were the hungriest and most apt to gobble up a Saxon foolish enough to be wandering out of doors in January.