Some people say we’re due for a January thaw. As I write this, the temperature outside is -3 and the wind chill is -20. The night sky has finally opened up after a snowstorm blanketed the valley, and the stars are shimmering brightly. It’s the kind of cold that when you breathe in, the hairs inside your nose clang together like fragile glass tendrils daring to shatter. All around us people are hibernating in their dens, huddled against the woodstove or heater. But the hardiest of us are enjoying the arctic blast, knowing that the lake is “making ice.” If I were a betting man, I’d put money on the whole lake freezing over this year and lots of truck traffic in the bays.