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Winged migration

I’m having trouble with arctic terns.
I’ve been watching winged migration. I understand bird migrations…. kind of. You winter where it’s warm. Then you fly north, for some reason, to breed. Then you fly back down south to get warm again for the winter.

Why not just stay where it’s warm? Predators? Food? I don’t know.

Birds fly thousands of miles. Really energetic ones fly six or seven thousand miles. But the arctic tern? It migrates twelve thousand miles. Twelve thousand miles!

The circumference of the earth is twenty-five thousand miles. That means pole-to-pole, it’s twelve and a half thousand miles.

The arctic tern. It summers in the Arctic, then flies to the Antarctic for the winter?

I don’t get it.

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Home

Winter’s grip weakens.

After sub-zero temperatures, we woke to warm forty degree weather. Perhaps the spell is broken.

I’d better get those seeds ordered.
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Home

I winterized the motorhome.
It had to happen. It’s going to freeze solid. Temperatures are dropping below zero.

I did the usual stuff. Holding tanks. Water lines.

There is more to do though. The water goes other places. There is a washing machine. There is an ice maker. I did it all. There is pink stuff everywhere. I shut the heat off.

For a day and a night.

Then I went out to touch it. It was too cold. It just wasn’t right. I turned the heat back on. We’ll pay the propane bill.
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Home

I’m a mope. I’m a horrible mope.
I’m not glad at all to be home. I’d rather be on the road.

I haven’t yet figured out how to concentrate at work.

Racquetball doesn’t even seem that important.

I remember now that this happens after every extended January trip.

We’ve been home a week. I forget how long this lasts.