When you go out to feed animals in the wee hours of the morning, your thoughts meander. Barn, coop, sheep shed. Sheep...
A sheep, a sheep dog or a shepherd? Which of these are you? In the new world that was thrust upon us, for me 55 days ago, which am I?
If you catch yourself sheepishly longing to be told what to do, which path to follow, it seems to me that's not a bad thing. Sheep do not know where their best food source is, where there is shelter ahead of a storm. They need the shepherd, and the uncanny talent of the dog.
Or maybe you catch yourself in the role of the shepherd? Wanting to protect those you love, those you feel are under your care (even if they are not really under your care)?
I was thinking this morning that I am not a sheep dog. I don't move boldly forward, I do over-protect, and over-analyze and I'd probably be the kind of animal that would have all sheep huddled en mass, sheltered from all storms and dangerous weather patterns, even if the grass is greener on the other side of the ravine.
You tend to muse in this way when you've been sheltering in place, indeed, isolating in place for 55 days in a row.
The polar blast is coming our way. Tomorrow for sure. Maybe even tonight. It's terribly disappointing and sort of hard to believe, especially since right now, the weather is not so bad. Rather pretty in fact.
... Though Ed does complain that breakfast on the porch is rather on the cool side. Perhaps. 55F (13C) seemed okay to me when I fed the animals, but for lingering over a morning bowl of cereal -- well, I see his point.
The kids come over shortly after. And we do stay outside for a while. Snowdrop wants to water some flowers.
(I teach Sparrow how to do this as well...)
(The two, on the picnic table, with flowers.)
(Helping Ed water the tomatoes...)
And they want to play in the sandbox.
And Snowdrop munches on some more asparagus...
And Sparrow rejects it, of course, because it's green, or because it looks suspicious -- which is his attitude toward most every veggie out there. (It appears here that he will eat it. Believe me, he wont.)
And then we play inside, feeling quite happy with the warmth of the house!
The afternoon is a mess of things. We bring in plants from the outside. I navigate upcoming medical appointments for my mom. The to-do list is endless -- a mess of stuff, of the kind you'd like to stick in the basement and forget about until next year or later.
But it is topped rather splendidly with a zoom call with my two friends (who have far better weather than I have, being in more southern climes).
They do a good job of feeling sorry for me. No one likes a polar vortex in May.
Evening? Warm soup. I mean, am I on target, given the weather, or what!
Thoughts tonight -- of the sheep dogs out there. The ones who have the smarts and the brave hearts to help the herd out when they need it most.
With love.
A sheep, a sheep dog or a shepherd? Which of these are you? In the new world that was thrust upon us, for me 55 days ago, which am I?
If you catch yourself sheepishly longing to be told what to do, which path to follow, it seems to me that's not a bad thing. Sheep do not know where their best food source is, where there is shelter ahead of a storm. They need the shepherd, and the uncanny talent of the dog.
Or maybe you catch yourself in the role of the shepherd? Wanting to protect those you love, those you feel are under your care (even if they are not really under your care)?
I was thinking this morning that I am not a sheep dog. I don't move boldly forward, I do over-protect, and over-analyze and I'd probably be the kind of animal that would have all sheep huddled en mass, sheltered from all storms and dangerous weather patterns, even if the grass is greener on the other side of the ravine.
You tend to muse in this way when you've been sheltering in place, indeed, isolating in place for 55 days in a row.
The polar blast is coming our way. Tomorrow for sure. Maybe even tonight. It's terribly disappointing and sort of hard to believe, especially since right now, the weather is not so bad. Rather pretty in fact.
... Though Ed does complain that breakfast on the porch is rather on the cool side. Perhaps. 55F (13C) seemed okay to me when I fed the animals, but for lingering over a morning bowl of cereal -- well, I see his point.
The kids come over shortly after. And we do stay outside for a while. Snowdrop wants to water some flowers.
(I teach Sparrow how to do this as well...)
(The two, on the picnic table, with flowers.)
(Helping Ed water the tomatoes...)
And they want to play in the sandbox.
And Snowdrop munches on some more asparagus...
And Sparrow rejects it, of course, because it's green, or because it looks suspicious -- which is his attitude toward most every veggie out there. (It appears here that he will eat it. Believe me, he wont.)
And then we play inside, feeling quite happy with the warmth of the house!
The afternoon is a mess of things. We bring in plants from the outside. I navigate upcoming medical appointments for my mom. The to-do list is endless -- a mess of stuff, of the kind you'd like to stick in the basement and forget about until next year or later.
But it is topped rather splendidly with a zoom call with my two friends (who have far better weather than I have, being in more southern climes).
They do a good job of feeling sorry for me. No one likes a polar vortex in May.
Evening? Warm soup. I mean, am I on target, given the weather, or what!
Thoughts tonight -- of the sheep dogs out there. The ones who have the smarts and the brave hearts to help the herd out when they need it most.
With love.
