Because we are in the grip of a worldwide plague, and because it’s also January on the Vineyard, this week’s column will be filled with midwinter magic and superstition.

Because the planet Mercury takes just 88 days to orbit around the sun, there are several times each year when Mercury actually appears to go backwards for a couple of weeks. These optical illusions are called retrogrades. Mercury is the Roman messenger god associated with travel, technology and communication. Astrologists say that while Mercury is in retrograde, it’s wise to move slowly and double-check everything. Avoid signing big contracts or starting big conversations. People from the past may reappear and travel plans tend to go awry. We may find that these few weeks bring an opportunity to recharge, remember and revise.

In early February we’ll be out from the effects of Mercury’s illusory backward slide, so hang in there and don’t hit “send” until you’re absolutely sure.

Monday morning we woke before dawn to a dusting of snow that I at first mistook for moonlight. The first part of our walk around Duarte’s Pond that day was very cold, but the sun was shining and by the end I was thinking how nice it is to scuffle through a mix of fallen beech leaves and fresh powder.

Holly Wayman tells me there is sometimes a pink wooden box hidden at the Lambert’s Cove Beach parking lot. Open the box and find slips of paper with wise words by everyone from Rumi to Martin Luther King Jr. This reminds me of the everyday spell where you hold a question in your mind, open a book to a random page, and stab your finger down on a passage. And there is your answer.

Come watch the Slough Farm sheep get sheared and learn about the whole process at the Sheep Shearing Shindig at the Ag Hall’s animal barn on Feb. 5 from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. There will be hot cider and heavy bleating.

Also at the Ag Hall: on Feb. 10 at 5:30 p.m., a class called All About Onions, hosted by Ethan from Grey Barn. Onions are a terrific, easy crop to grow. This is the time of year to start seeds, if you’re going that way. Onion shoots smell like onion from the instant they poke their grassy selves up from their little cup of soil. I like that.

West Tisbury’s own Kayleigh Bollin has her first photography exhibit at Featherstone this week. I didn’t know about this until now, so I’m late in mentioning it, but remember her name.

I have not written much about my kitchen in this column, but it’s the bleak midwinter and that means potion-making. We keep a glass jar in the refrigerator topped up with turmeric, minced raw ginger, apple cider vinegar, raw honey and some other secret stuff. It’s also a good time for paddling around in almond oil, beeswax and other emollients.

The last few days, though, have been all about the ultimate chicken broth, the kind of broth that quivers with gelatinous promise and wards off illness, sorrow and bad luck. This undertaking involved chicken feet, roots and sprigs from the sleeping garden, fresh bay leaves (thank you, Sue!), and a whole lot of filtering.

Stewing up feet is a little bit horrifying, particularly if you’ve kept chickens and know what they get up to. Just lean into the witchy vibes, stir with a long spoon and for God’s sake keep your eye firmly fixed on something else, such as the kitchen clock.

A big pot bubbling with talons naturally attracts attention and a visitor to the kitchen peered over my shoulder for a closer look. At that point I was asked whether I had meant to include the absorbent pad that came in the package of feet. That’s how good my gaze-aversion game is.

After we fished out the pad, we decided that next time we might just use other chicken parts, the kind I can look at directly. For something as fortifying and precious as ultimate chicken broth, there will always be a next time.