missing snow and eating well

This wont go down in Madison's history as the least snowy winter. That fun designation belongs to 1901-02, at which time Madison got all of 4 inches of snow. But we are dangerously close to being in the record books! Right now we're in the second spot (since they began keeping score in 1884), with only about 10 inches of snow thus far. But of course, we will get more this winter, right? Right?? To give you some perspective, our snowiest winter was 2007-08, when we had over 110 inches (so almost 10 feet of it!). Oh, I remember it well... It was a mess. It was beautiful.

This morning I woke to a scant dusting of snow. Enough to put a little crunch under my step. Enough to have to sweep off the walkway to the farmhouse. Ed fed the cheepers again, but by the time I got notice of it, I was bundled and out anyway. 

 

 

That's okay -- I feel strong enough to venture out into the great big world. I head for the new development that abuts farmette lands. Walking there, you can look back at the farmette barn, the silo, the toppling box elders and tall but fragile willows.

The fact that I love my morning pre-breakfast walk tells me that I am feeling stronger. I haven't yet retested for Covid, but I'm hoping for a first negative tomorrow. With that, I should be able to return to Real Life by Sunday. In the meantime, I'm at war with the lethargy aspect of Covid!

Breakfast? Alone, but with a candle and with a wonderful video clip to amuse me, sent by Bee, who understands...

 

I know this wont last, but for being quite sick, I have had a very healthy and active January thus far. Oh, the irony of it!

Ed, on the other hand, is still down and out. His big movement for the day? An afternoon walk to the farmhouse, then, a few hours later, a return to the sheep shed. 

Not only is he not particularly mobile, but, too, food, especially the healthy kind, does not tempt him. (Losing his sense of smell doesn't help.) At the same time, the topic of healthy eating keeps creeping up on me (more like pounding at me), relentlessly, daily. Mon Dieu! How I would love to see articles about the pleasures of sinful, delightful, joyful eating! Instead, my Inbox is full of this other stuff. The NY Times is hammering away at changing eating habits, eliminating UPFs (ultra processed foods), as is the Wash Po, and the New Yorker, even the Economist, and they're from across the ocean. I'm besieged. How I hate that I now have to doubt my granola and most certainly my oatmeal-seeded protein bars!

I cave under pressure and try a new approach to lunch. Away from Kind bars to... well, what? I already eat plenty of fruits (breakfast) and veggies (supper). Aside from the PB&J sandwich (which I love, but I can see the health police going after me for all that sweetness and now, too, for stocking up on -- oh horror! -- packaged bread), I've never quite understood the American lunch. Poles often eat their main meal in the afternoon. The French? Well, when I observe them in their crowded cafes, they're scarfing down meats, seafood, lentils, cheeses, with maybe a glass of wine, finished off by a coffee, with a sweet nibble.

This wouldn't play here.

I take out some German dark seeded bread. I spread some hummus over it. I throw in a mini Kind bar for dessert.

You call that a good lunch? Meh. It wont last. 

 

 (chickens, enjoying bits and pieces of the great stuff: croissants, baguette, old granola bars, cinnamon rolls...)

Toward evening I trim Ed's hair (on his request). Yes, he was beginning to look like the flying nun, with tufts of white sticking out on both sides of his head. I know the science -- I wont get sicker touching his scalp. Still, some objective bystander might say that I did a rushed job. 

And then he returns to the sheep shed and I take out yesterday's fish and yesterday's asparagus and make up a salad and think about turning on Emma. Four Austens in a row? Can't do it. It's not going to be a movie night here at the farmhouse. Maybe tomorrow!

with love...