I admit to being a lifelong winter lover. When voluptuous snow blew down from the north this past weekend, I watched whorls of powder surf off the garage peak. Coming home from the morning walk, I did outdoor chores with gusto. Hauling in a sled of peeled and split poplar from our shed. Shoveling our walkway. Filling three seed feeders, beefing up our suet offerings, and filling the nut butter tower that friend Arnold Collman made for us one Christmas. Stocked the wood stove and set it afire, coaxing it with a thin wedge of air.

Next, the turkey soup ritual. Greasing up my hands by extract...