By Hal Walter I’m not sure when winter began in earnest but probably back in January. I knew I was in trouble when I bought a 25-pound bag of wild bird seed at the feed store. I grew even more troubled when I realized the wind chill was such that I was feeding only two juncos and one chickadee. The rest of the birds had wisely flown the coop apparently along with my own sanity. Some snow arrived, along with consistently cold temperatures. Attempts at cross-country skiing ended in frustration of sugar snow and cold hands and feet. This soon ...