I walked out with all my armor on. Carhartt coveralls, waterproof boots, wool socks, rabbit fur hat, ski parka and gloves. I looked up to the sheep sheds and not a sheep was outside their snowless caves. I couldn't blame them. I turned up my ipod and listened to an audiobook while I got to work. I started shoveling the drive, one scoop at a time and within forty-five minutes managed to free the car and move about a 1/4 of the snow off to the sides of fifteen feet of driveway (another 20 to the road, which was of course, piled with four feet of snow from street plows). I was heaving, so I decided to take a break and go inside to warm up. There is no rush, I can't rush. If I do it all at once I will burn myself out, pull my back, or cold get frostbite from a hole in a glove or boot. I have learned to do what I can in many small cuts instead of deep gashes. So, I took off my headphones and blew hot air into my gloves. White vapor came up all around my face in the 10 degree air. I watched it rise up in the blue sky and let myself get lost in the tiny meditation, that is until I heard a loud BBBBBAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH five feet behind me. I turned around and all eight sheep were at the fence gate. They must have marched down through the snow while I was lost in the work. Now I realized I had breakfast to serve, and that meant digging a path to their hay (and to them) before I went inside for my own coffee. My own break was delayed on account of eight rumens.... and fifteen minutes later they were all happily chomping through the blizzard on grass that was alive in Washington County ground in July. The wind picked up and they simply turned their wooly backed to it and kept eating. I suddenly never wanted coffee more in my life than that exact moment.
Inside I peeled off layer after layer and placed them in front of the wood stove to dry off a bit before I took on the rest of the driveway and new paths to the chickens, rabbits, and pig. I wasn't worried about the other animals. I had seen to them late last night when the first flakes started to fall and knew they had enough food and water to make it till noon if necessary. I had stapled more plastic on their windows, made sure all the chickens were in the coop or barn and shut the door tight. I was in no rush to free them either, since I knew the birds wouldn't leave the coop even if the door was wide open in this. Chickens aren't interested in reenacting the last scene of the Shining.
Storms like these stop a normal life. Schools are closed, offices shut down, and single people with day jobs and farms need to call in "snow." I had already spoke to my boss the night before explaining the amount of work that went into digging out the paths, animals, driveway and such. She told me to take off the entire day if I needed it, and I just might. People around here know that sometimes you just can't get into work when weather hits. Sometimes it's a fallen tree in your driveway, or lost power, or in this case: snowed in animals and everyone seems to understand the occasional necessary luxury of not going into the office when roads are closed. It's not even eight o'clock and the farm is just starting to get free of the snow and more is coming today, another 3-6 inches by noon. I'm going to fuel up on coffee and oatmeal and then head back out for round two: operation driveway. Hopefully this time when I stop shoveling for a break the pig won't be behind me wearing a bib and holding a knife and fork...