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I switched addictions surprisingly fast once we ran out of chocolate, months ago.
Millions of snowflakes rush at us - small, gritty ones, the kind that mean business. They've already swallowed up the mountains and reduced the forest to a grey-green smudge.
'You will have to watch for dying tissue. When you see any that has died off, cut it away carefully. A pair of kitchen scissors should work, just make sure they are clean," Sam read, then looked up from the computer screen.
The creaking sound of boots on cold snow behind me suddenly ceased. There was a moment of silence, then a muffled grunt, a thud and a string of curses, hardly intelligible except for the word "yoga.
The most dangerous animal in our parts, I was told by a man from Florida, is the wolverine. "But I'll bet you've never even seen one," he concluded. The logic of his statement defied me.
Time to decommission the chicken heater, now that it's a balmy minus 23 Celsius.
Paw prints trailed across the snow like a ball of wool unravelled by the feet of our dogs. They were playing a wild game of chase, Nooka running flat out, sucking in her hind end and casting backward glances at Milan hot on her heels.
A raven swooped off into the distance like an inebriated amputee, trailing his raucous voice behind him.
Finally, daylight has shrunk so much it can't shrink any further; something that can't be said for Sam's wool socks drying behind the stove.
In the pitch black darkness of what theoretically is morning, the clammy cold of my gumboots embraces my bare feet.
I had barely disentangled the spaghetti of power cords and plugged our cluster of depleted batteries (12V, triple A, cordless drill, netbook and laptop) into their assorted chargers when the generator died.
I would like to be lost again. To wander off at will, turning this way and that through the trees until I can't pinpoint my location anymore, until where I am stops being clearly defined in my mind.
Our last tomato exploded wetly underneath my heel. This was unfortunate in more ways than one: not only had the shrivelled, orange-reddish fruit spilled its remnants of flavour onto the easy chair, it also stuck to my socks.
The rubbing trees can take a break from the bears now, from having furry backs pushed up against their trunks and crinkly hairs stuck in their sap.
Summer is so easy here, so obvious. It has the blinding beauty of a supermodel, dazzling and charming everybody. So breathtaking the appearance, such radiating warmth.
At first sight, nothing could be less like Starship Enterprise than our cabin.
It wasn't by the usual way of conception, morning sickness, and birth that a child was suddenly about to join our household, nor by adoption.
Supposedly we're in for a cold one. A winter where miniature glaciers form on the inside of window frames and snow squeals in tortured shrieks when you walk on it, when minus 30 feels pleasant and balmy, almost summer-like.
They can be scary, those encounters with the animal kingdom: close up, when you least expect them. I sure wasn't prepared for one when I got up from the couch and put my headlamp on to visit the outhouse one more time before going to bed.
Spanish bullfighting was the furthest thing from my mind when I hung up the laundry.