Thursday, November 06, 2014

the real November

So how cold is it, Nina?
Oh, so cold that a one minute foray outdoors, to throw some seeds and bread pieces at the cheepers has me cowering and huddling. Their feathers blow every which way and I have to wonder -- do they maybe hate winter? is it tough for them to get through the next five months?


I have this sense of guilt as I come indoors into the warm farmhouse. And mix up a pancake batter for Ed. And pour sweet honey over my oatmeal.


How is it that we have so much privilege? For a fleeting second I almost want to go out and get a heating unit for their coop, but we've been warned: don't give it to this unless there is a polar vortex, or they wont be able to adapt to the cold. Seems like tough love though, doesn't it?

In contrast to yesterday's productive slog through tough work, today is gently paced. The winds howl, the temps stay in the upper thirties, the cheepers crouch for most of their daylight hours under the old pickup.

But close to evening (these days, evening merges with late afternoon!), I go out. To meet a friend for a cup or glass of something downtown. The skies are pouty, the air is crisp.


And the light is gone when I leave the cafe to find my car again. A black cat moves slowly across my path, then hesitates as I do my cat calling noises.


He comes over and stretches himself at my feet.
Sorry, buddy. I need to get home to my guys. I'm not a night prowler anymore. This is your domain. Your way of life.

I get in the old Escort and drive into the deeply dark night of the country.