On a cold and frosty morning

Pretty as a picture: our neighbour's tugboat, Johanna, just to
give you something beautiful to look at

Here in the Dutch winter, it's one thing or the other. We either endure grey, wet weather with mild temperatures, or it's bright and sunny but bitterly cold. One thing that never goes away, though, is the wind. The flat landscape in this country provides no resistance to the gales that sweep across it and for those of us who live here, there is nowhere to shelter: no valley to nestle into, no hill to tuck behind and no ridge to protect us. The dykes are often lined with trees that are supposed to act as windbreaks, but they don't really help that much. So even now that it's beautifully bright with hard frosts overnight, the wind keeps blowing, and boy, is it icy!

Yesterday morning, I woke up on board wondering why my nose and cheeks felt so exceptionally cold. I always turn the oil stove off at night, but normally the residual warmth keeps the inside temperature from dropping too far, and I usually sleep happily until around 7.30 in the morning. However, when I crept out of bed to escape an attack of cramp in my feet, I discovered it was only 6 o'clock. 

I don't do early, especially not 6 o'clock early, but this time I knew the cramp was because I was freezing.

Now, I have a nifty digital device that gives me not only the time, but also the temperature and humidity on board. When I shuffled over to peer at it, my eyes widened in horror. No wonder I was so cold. The temperature in the boat was only 5c, and I'll swear there was an even lower windchill factor because an icy draught was whistling round my ankles. It finally dawned on me we must have had an unexpectedly cold night. 

Not quite ready to take a look at the outside world, I lit the stove and scurried back to bed, hoping it would warm up enough for me to make a cup of coffee and drink it in comfort. But it wasn't to be and in fact, it took more than two hours for it to reach 8 degrees. Hardly cosy and definitely not what we would call room temperature.

By that time I'd given up and I got myself dressed before wrapping my hands around my mug of coffee in an attempt to get warm. When I did finally stick my head out of the hatch, the morning sun had melted most of the ice on deck and on the roof, but you can see from the photo below, there was still plenty left. 

What I should add is that the icy part of the deck is right over my bed and although I have thick insulation on the inside, it's still the coldest spot on board. Not much encouragement to stay under the covers, I can assure you.

All the same, it was a beautiful morning as the blue skies and early sunshine will testify. What is not visible, of course, is the wind, which soon had me ducking back inside to escape its knife-like cut.

On the upside, the previous afternoon had been lovely and I spent a few happy hours scrubbing the Vereeniging clean and doing my best to de-green the nooks and crannies around the rubbing rail and edges. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to get rid of all of it, but next time, I'll attack it with some vinegar and that should do the trick. Still, she's looking better on the whole and I enjoyed giving her a good wash down. It's one of the few cleaning jobs I find therapeutic rather than a tedious chore.

 Today, it's been bright, sunny and even colder in the wind. I'm back at the crumbly cottage where Koos and I had planned to start scraping down window frames ready for re-painting, but the frigid air put paid to our good intentions and we did other jobs instead. The garden fence, being in the full sun, got sanded and oiled instead. 

Ah well, it's only March and I still have no spring flowers in the garden yet, although I did see my first bumble bee—a good sign that warmer days will come.

Have a good week allemaal.