Thursday, December 27, 2012

The Storm

The storm is here. It arrived last night on the coattails of high winds and black skies. The foot of fluffy snow the weathermen prejudiced did not arrive on this mountain. Instead sharp grains of ice water are piling up like glass filings. The wind is strong and pulling down trees. I have power for now, but I suspect I will lose it as the weight of the ice brings weak limbs down on the power lines—or as we call them around here—comfort on a shoestring.

I did chores this morning in smaller stages, breaking down the outdoor work into three smaller trips. Trip one was before light came, feeding horses in the dark wind. The second trip happened after a fire was lit and the sun rose. After I had a cup of hot tea. I went out and fed the barn crew, who were comfortable out of the fray in the old structure. The pigs, goats, rabbits, and Monday the ram lamb were happy to greet me. The pigs squealed and banged their pen walls as I dumped their chow into their pan. Bonita stood up on the wooden railing to watch, hoping the grain was for her. Francis happily chewed her hay in the stall, out of the weather. Monday was happy to eat his share out in the storm. He was the only animal from the barn who chose to eat outside. Scottish Blackface sheep are the toughest animal on earth, I sometimes think. I have no guilt feeding the sheep last. They are out in the storm walking around like nothing is happening. Atlas is mounting ewes and Sal is glaring at him from his stance of livid impotence. I'd be jealous, too. You need to be a certain kind of man to have a sex life out in an ice storm.

I'm heading out now to bring a bale to the flock. When they are all set I'll have a few more chores here and there: water buckets to the horses and bringing in the rabbits bottles to defrost by the stove, but mostly the day will be spent indoors. I have writing to do. I also want to take time to stretch and savor the need for the simple comforts a storm grants. There's pork in the crock pot, and a loaf of fresh bread will be baked. If the power leaves me I'll still be warm and well fed. There's a stream if mountain water running through the farm, fifty feet from my front door. I feel blessed. I am so grateful to be home, and not worried about a commute or office drama as the snow falls.

Stay warm. Stay Safe.

4 Comments:

Blogger Moose Hollow Farm said...

We already have 7 or 8 inches of snow and the weatherman is predicting a total of 10 to 18 inches for our area. A day inside near the woodstove except for the occasional trip to the chicken coops to check on the girls and to replenish their food & water. I will be mopping wet floors from boots and dog paws all day, I'm sure. We will be losing our power, too, no doubt, so I am doing laundry and I will be loading the dishwasher after I finish here.
I feel lucky (as you do) that I do not have to venture any further than the barn on this cold, snowy day. The driving will be horrible, I'm sure. Enjoy your winter tempest, Jenna.

December 27, 2012 at 8:46 AM  
OpenID vintageandhandcraftedinnovascotia said...

Here Ive replenished the fire, had coffee and am doing laundry in case there is no power and therefore no running water up from my 300+ feet deep well. I'm too old now to have any animals to care for, so it's just me - carrying wood and checking candle and flashlight supplies and planning a supper cooked on top of the airtight. We're predicted to have a little of everything - snow, freezing rain and rain. Stay safe, everyone, and enjoy your quiet day.
Janet in Nova Scotia

December 27, 2012 at 9:21 AM  
Blogger CallieK said...

I think we got your snow! We were only supposed to get 5 -10 cm but I think we got closer to 30!

December 27, 2012 at 9:42 AM  
Blogger Molly Piper said...

Your writing is just so good. It takes a mind and heart into all sorts of alive places, makes you laugh out loud too.

December 27, 2012 at 10:14 AM  

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