It's a long slog up from a bitter cold start to the day. But no one is complaining: the Arctic front did not come to a grinding halt right over our little state of Wisconsin. Today it began to move on up and away. Even though we will not rise above 0F (-18C), not until tomorrow, we are slowly recovering. Coming to our senses. Shedding the layers to just a half dozen when we go outside.
(This morning, on my walk to the barn, still at -25f/-32C.)
(All five come down for the corn treat! Can you see them?)
I actually had to walk back and forth several times: I forgot this, I ran out of that... Feeding animals in this weather can be a complicated business.
(Stop Sign comes around reminding me that leaving food in a bowl is not good enough: I must go back and defrost it for her kitties. Everything freezes instantly!)
Breakfast. Of the warm kind, inside.
Our cars are still useless and so Snowdrop is shuttled over to us by her dad. Schools are closed, for the fourth day in a row. Can you imagine the toll on working parents?
At the farmhouse, Snowdrop has plunged into pretend play. Every day. She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't pause to ask for her favorite cookie. She shakes off her outside clothes and runs to begin today's adventures with Tinkerbell, Brambley Hedge Mice, Muppet Christmas Carol and of course Gogs and the babies. And Ed, if he is not asleep or otherwise lost to planet earth for the afternoon.
(There is always a chapter that unfolds over food. Play food. But she takes it very seriously: who gets what, why and in what shape or form is immensely important.)
But here's a given: all Snowdrop tales have elements of joy...
When the little girl leaves, I suggest to Ed that we try to put life into the cars. I mean, we both need them tomorrow morning and it's not going to be any warmer then.
It's a challenge. Ed thinks I had over cranked mine. I think the battery is getting old. We both think that it's awfully cold outside.
Dusk comes and goes, we're still trying to work the cables between two cars. And just as we're about to give up, mine sparks into a full lovely roar.
I now have to drive it for at least a half hour. The roads are icy. I'm not ambitious: I do a loop just to the east of us. Several times. Early night: anyone will tell you that this is the hour when deer come out in search of food. On my circuit, I see no shortage of these graceful beasts.
In the farmhouse, I get ready to fuss with dinner. But I remind Ed that we really have to think creatively on how to deal with the mouse problem. We have three cats lurking nearby, owls and hawks hungry as anything and still, there are the mice. Specifically, there is one ambitious little devil who has been terrorizing just one corner of the kitchen for weeks now. We've set traps, but the mouse is no fool: it can go in, grab the food and be out again before the door slams shut. Yesterday was the last straw: the mouse had made its way into the sink and down to where the garbage disposal leaves tempting crud for it to eat. I didn't know the mouse was there until I went to clean the pots and pans after dinner. I suppose I nearly water-boarded the poor thing by turning on the faucet full blast. It came scrambling up and out through the drain, up the sink walls, across the counter and past the stove, back to its hiding spot, probably somewhere in the basement.
So tonight we get serious. We take out our most robust trap and load it: peanut butter, almond butter, cheese with jam. I mean, is there anything more tempting to a mouse?
And within and hour, it is trapped.
I ask -- do you want to drive it out to the Conservancy?
Not really. Do you?
No...
Maybe we should both go?
Well that's just double misery...
So tomorrow?
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Because life returns to normal tomorrow. Schools reopen, cars start, life spins back to the way it was before the cold air hit us with such force.
(This morning, on my walk to the barn, still at -25f/-32C.)
(All five come down for the corn treat! Can you see them?)
I actually had to walk back and forth several times: I forgot this, I ran out of that... Feeding animals in this weather can be a complicated business.
(Stop Sign comes around reminding me that leaving food in a bowl is not good enough: I must go back and defrost it for her kitties. Everything freezes instantly!)
Breakfast. Of the warm kind, inside.
Our cars are still useless and so Snowdrop is shuttled over to us by her dad. Schools are closed, for the fourth day in a row. Can you imagine the toll on working parents?
At the farmhouse, Snowdrop has plunged into pretend play. Every day. She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't pause to ask for her favorite cookie. She shakes off her outside clothes and runs to begin today's adventures with Tinkerbell, Brambley Hedge Mice, Muppet Christmas Carol and of course Gogs and the babies. And Ed, if he is not asleep or otherwise lost to planet earth for the afternoon.
(There is always a chapter that unfolds over food. Play food. But she takes it very seriously: who gets what, why and in what shape or form is immensely important.)
But here's a given: all Snowdrop tales have elements of joy...
When the little girl leaves, I suggest to Ed that we try to put life into the cars. I mean, we both need them tomorrow morning and it's not going to be any warmer then.
It's a challenge. Ed thinks I had over cranked mine. I think the battery is getting old. We both think that it's awfully cold outside.
Dusk comes and goes, we're still trying to work the cables between two cars. And just as we're about to give up, mine sparks into a full lovely roar.
I now have to drive it for at least a half hour. The roads are icy. I'm not ambitious: I do a loop just to the east of us. Several times. Early night: anyone will tell you that this is the hour when deer come out in search of food. On my circuit, I see no shortage of these graceful beasts.
In the farmhouse, I get ready to fuss with dinner. But I remind Ed that we really have to think creatively on how to deal with the mouse problem. We have three cats lurking nearby, owls and hawks hungry as anything and still, there are the mice. Specifically, there is one ambitious little devil who has been terrorizing just one corner of the kitchen for weeks now. We've set traps, but the mouse is no fool: it can go in, grab the food and be out again before the door slams shut. Yesterday was the last straw: the mouse had made its way into the sink and down to where the garbage disposal leaves tempting crud for it to eat. I didn't know the mouse was there until I went to clean the pots and pans after dinner. I suppose I nearly water-boarded the poor thing by turning on the faucet full blast. It came scrambling up and out through the drain, up the sink walls, across the counter and past the stove, back to its hiding spot, probably somewhere in the basement.
So tonight we get serious. We take out our most robust trap and load it: peanut butter, almond butter, cheese with jam. I mean, is there anything more tempting to a mouse?
And within and hour, it is trapped.
I ask -- do you want to drive it out to the Conservancy?
Not really. Do you?
No...
Maybe we should both go?
Well that's just double misery...
So tomorrow?
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Because life returns to normal tomorrow. Schools reopen, cars start, life spins back to the way it was before the cold air hit us with such force.
