leconte had a cap on her
I came home from work and did my evening chores in a cold rain. By the time everyone was fed (including me - leftover pasta) the world was wetter, colder, and darker. Yet inside this small house are thick walls and warm blankets. I haven't raised the thermostat above 58 yet, but with the tight home a simple night of laundry in the dryer and a cooked meal heat the place up so warm I am peeling off layers when I sleep. Right now there are three fluffy dogs and candlelight. Jazz and Annie look like wolves by a campfire when it hits them. Tonight I am sharing the dark with a cup of coffee and a scary movie (the Village) and I am so comfortable I am ready to call it at night after 8pm. It's Friday. Like I said, I'm a homebody.
You know you're going to become a farmer when you find out a coworker has to leave an upstate New York October for the Bahamas on business and you're gut reaction was. That sounds terrible...
I came in tonight from my final night rounds and saw that the livestock were all in their sheds and roosts. The rabbits were on their hay in the barn. I called for June Carter into the wind but nothing came of it. She's still gone.
They are calling for a few inches of snow tonight, up to six in elevations above 2,000 feet. I think this is special, but I've already been told there was snow in the Smokies a few weeks ago, that LeConte had a cap on her. Tennessee is always first, at least in my mind. That state is the reason you are reading this blog because Cold Antler Farm started at the bottom of a waterfall in the Smoky Mountains. That's another story though.
Tomorrow I am sleeping in. Without herding lessons to race off too—and not plans till I go buy barn-building supplies later in the afternoon—I see no reason not to revel in this warm house while the wind picks and howls outside.
I am fed. I am warm. I am tired.
I am glad.