Thursday - 328th

We wake up to icy rain. The temps hover at freezing and though we know there will be snow soon, underneath that fresh layer of white stuff there will be a slick sheet of ice. Groan!

It gets worse.

I move with some alacrity this morning. I need to wipe off the still mushy ice from the car and, of course, I want to feed the animals. 

As I enter the barn, I sense that something is a little off. The coop door is open, as it should be. But Happy and two girls are prancing about in the corner of the coop. Pepper is in the barn. What's going on here?

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

In one opposite corner of the coop I spot a possum. Sitting over the dead body of Java. Our oldest, motherly, sweet and good Java. 

I quickly try to get the three trapped chickens to leave the coop, but Peach and Happy stubbornly refuse to move toward the door. I call Ed, madly, anxiously, he comes quickly and pulls them out. Tomato is missing. I have to think she was mauled and carried away by perhaps another possum -- who knows. She's gone.

We block the coop exit with a trap, but the possum refuses to budge, nestling itself on its catch. We hope in the course of the day we can get it out. For now, we retreat, struggling to make sense of what happened.

We had not seen any signs of wild animal life since we removed three possum last month. But, in hindsight, we should not have given up on trapping these beasts. Going forward, we have to move to a different winter strategy. With the cold spell rolling in tomorrow, the cheepers wont be leaving the coop, making themselves vulnerable all over again. All four of them. So we'll lock them in for a while until the weather is good enough for them to want to head out. But that's a plan for tomorrow. Today is looking to be a very long day indeed.

(Yesterday there were six, now there are four.)

Breakfast. Somber. Should we get new chicks this spring? Ed asks. I don't know. Maybe. I don't know.

In the meantime, the new feral cat, call her (or him) Pancake, is being hunted by the pack of six feline farmette residents. They sniff out the writers shed, make sure there is no intruder, then, satisfied, they retreat to the sheep shed (except for Dance, who retreats to the porch and eventually the farmhouse). 

(by the drying face masks) 

 

 

And this is when Pancake crawls out from underneath the writers shed. It's raining, no, snowing, and there she is, waiting with hope for food. I rush it to her, wanting so much to fill her up before the bitter cold sets in.

 

Winter, early spring -- these are the mean seasons here on the farmette. Last year, we lost a few kittens. The year before, a hawk took one of the cheepers. And before -- a beast raided the coop and took away two young pullets. You can't be surprised -- it happens to all free rangers and feral packs. Foxes, possum, raccoons, coyotes, hawks -- they all need food. Still, our animals are as close to pets as you're going to get without actually having them curl up under the quilt with you. And so every raid is a loss. And today, we lost the oldest and the youngest. Darn it all.

 

In other news, I got a call from Fox News this afternoon. After a brief chat, the Fox guy asked me if I would agree to be interviewed for their nightly news program. Why me, you ask. Well, when our state was establishing vaccination priorities, I'd taken the time to write a letter with comments (hey, they invited public comments and I am the public!). The Fox News guy had read them (I guess they're public record) and wanted more insights, especially since our university had established some vaccination priorities that are fodder for controversy-seeking news outlets. Predictably, I politely declined, but I did feed him some soundbites that might be fun to use. Given the nature of this game, I doubt he'll go down that diffusing-controversy-peace-seeking path, but still, I tried.

LATER:

The snowfall is very pretty (and constant), but I cant say we're tempted to head out. Ed has work meetings and besides, the roads are still snow covered and slippery.

 

 

I think about chickens and new cars and Fox News and anything at all that will distract me from editing sentences -- something that is becoming more tedious even as I get closer and closer to the end of the writing project. (Notice how I no longer call it Great. Even in jest. I'm on the hundredth version, and so it is in my mind anything but great. More like a headache that jumps from one lobe to the next and refuses to ever leave my head.)

Toward evening, we are too housebound, too restless. What do you think? -- he asks. I don't know -- I respond. But as always, the desire to not get too soft, too stiff, too darn lazy pushes us out the door. And on our drive through what surely feels like blizzarding snow, we see this animal cross the road, heading straight for the farmette lands.

Great. A coyote. 

Honestly, I feel our cheepers, our cats are under seige!

The skiing? It is solitary and beautiful.

Never say no to skiing. A bath in the forest, a return to sanity after this crazy day.

The four chickens had trudged to the garage earlier in the day and we close the door on them there tonight, because it really is looking like the possum wont budge out of the coop for now. Poking him with a shovel did not work. We'll see what tomorrow will bring. 

For us -- it's time for a frittata supper. With potato, and brussel sprouts and mushrooms. And lots and lots of cheese.

Wednesday - 327th

It's the last day of weather meant for human habitation and so I must do everything, everything before all hell breaks loose. 

It feels that way, too. That I'm doing everything. Ed is terribly busy with some work transfer something or other issues. It's occupying most of his waking hours, leaving us to dig even more deeply into an already gendered division of farmhouse work (there because Ed is not good at attending to stuff that needs attending in order to keep the farmhouse presentable).

Hours upon hours spent on my usual home stuff, while the Ed list grows and grows and will continue to grow until he stops being so preoccupied with those work transfer something or other issues. A broken microwave, chickens without heat, property border issues, oh, why bother spelling it out. The list is just too long.

(To his credit, if something of vital importance broke in the farmhouse, he would fix it right away. The problem is that he and I have very different ideas about what is of vital importance.)

A pretty day. A pre-storm bit of blue-skyed loveliness.

The animals are as happy about the sunshine as I am.

(Though the cheepers huddle from the cold... six beaks visible and accounted for!)

 

We have a seventh cat hanging around here. A new one. And the pack of six is keenly aware of it and so I have that age old struggle of distracting them while I take food to the writer's shed. The cat is hanging out underneath. If it is still with us in several weeks, we'll trap her (or him) and have her spayed. And then we'll watch as this gang of sibs and half sibs chases her off the property. These guys are very protective of their space.

And speaking of new, I have the following isolation bug: I want a new car. People want new houses, new rooms, new kitchens, new sheets, new pajamas, new slippers, but I want a new car.

Now, I am not going to get one because honestly, even without travel this past year, and with near zero interest rates, I cannot afford it and, too, I do understand that in buying a new vehicle, you are paying THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS for that newness. For no good reason, because within a day it wont be new and it will feel to you like any old car, cluttered with kid toys and stained by tea drips from your travel mug.

Nevertheless, I want a new car. Here's why: as I already told you, I did everything today that needs to be done before a storm wallops and a horrible Arctic snap shutters us inside. This means I filled the car with gas, I picked up (curbside!) prescriptions, and bottles of (curbside!) wine. And I delivered some fruits, cookies and books to the young family. And, because they are nice and they want to keep me giddy with happiness, the kids and my daughter came to the door to greet me and I was delighted and began to tell them all some irrelevant nothings when Snowdrop interrupted me -- gaga, your car just rolled down to the street.

 

 

 

Thank goodness the car did not squash anyone or bump into some other car (it's a quiet street), but still, it does have this problem among many others. Ed has fixed the most urgent issues as they have arisen, but the moody rolling on slopes is annoying. It means that I can never ever leave it on any incline whatsoever and that's fine -- we live in a flat-ish environment, but then there comes a time where I just want to hop out for a sec and yes, there is a hill and the old and now quite rusty car will start its downward crawl.

I came home and told this to Ed who rolled his eyes and said -- you probably parked it in third.

I did not! I put it in first, as always!

I'm sure you put it in third.

It's rolled before! And besides, why would it roll in third? No, don't explain it to me. I wont understand.

I'll fix your hand brake, so that when you accidentally put it in third, as you likely did, it wont roll.

He does not understand. I want a new car. It's my isolation bug. It will pass I'm sure, but I took some pleasure at looking at websites of new Hondas, Subarus, Mazdas, and VWs. They look a lot more complicated inside than my now 14 year old vehicle, bought used, 7 years ago. All the more reason to learn about new technology now before I get too old to embrace it.

Any other photos from today? Of course! There was breakfast. (Almost ready)

There was Dance enjoying a new bunch of flowers. She does like the flowers.

And there was my outside masked visit with the young family.

And, too, there was late afternoon skiing. Imagine, I say to Ed. We could put the skis in a hatch back rather than you sharing space with them in the front seat. He says nothing. He knows that this too shall pass. Unless we have to stay cooped up for another two years and then I will really want a new car!

(I still think that in his winter garb, on skis, he looks like Bernie! Or at least Larry David. Who, of course, is related to Bernie.)

Tuesday - 326th

I swore to myself that I would not even mention Groundhog Day. I mean, it's one conspiracy theory, isn't it? "I heard somewhere that if a groundhog sees its shadow..." Poor Punxsutawney Phil. His state of Pennsylvania has seen enough spread of disinformation. Now he has to be ripped from his lair to spread another rumor based on nothing, this time about spring. Bleh.

Still, you can't help but think -- this sunshine is something else! We don't start the day with it...

...but it's there soon enough and it is splendid. In all, it's a day to take note of, if only because it is so much finer than what's coming. You don't want to know how cold it will be this weekend. You just don't want to know.  (Hint: if we even get up to 0F, which is about -18C, I'll consider that to be a good thing!)

Breakfast. With him.

And after? I am now fully committed to finishing my writing project, so any outdoor time is pushed to the late afternoon. Why the rush to finish? Oh, I want my freedom back! Writing the book has been like rebuilding a house that has been destroyed by a storm. Everything is wrecked, messed up and in need of repair and you keep hammering away at this corner, then that, but it never gets done because the storm was just too big and your hammer too small. It's time to really patch it up, make it habitable, and move on.

But in the late late afternoon, Ed and I finally do go out -- to our favorite corner of our local park, where the trails aren't groomed, but the space is enormous and beautiful and fun to navigate.

(Ed stops, I stop, we lean on our poles and admire the evening light...)

Later, as I cook up a veggie and bean soup for supper, I have a chance to talk to this little girl:

She always likes to take a peek into my refrigerator ,which regrettably, is never very interesting, except maybe to an almost three year old who thinks a half a mango is just the bees knees. Ah, Primrose...

Night time at the farmhouse. Some cats come in, then go out. Dance watches me munch on cheese puffs, knowing darn well that she'll get her share. The cat loves cheese puffs. Ed and I talk about setting up some heating system to protect the cheepers in the coming Arctic blast. Old quilts, possibly a heater too, one that cant tip over and burn down the barn. 

 

It's quiet here at night. February quiet.

Monday - 325th

The East Coast gets hit by a storm while we are bathed in sunshine. Where is the fairness in life! 

 

(Although we did pay our dues. That was one loooong snowfall.)

Not to overuse the world beautiful, but what else can you say about a snow cover that sparkles like cold fire! (I don't think a photo can adequately show off sparkles. Or can it? Maybe a little, with a closeup...)

Breakfast. A little chaotic. Ed is in the middle of solving a work problem. Still, pretty and warm.

We run the Roomba Robot Vacuum and I try to coax our still a tiny-bit-feral-but-not-really Dance to take a ride on it, but her instinct is to regard it with suspicion, from afar. I will not be one of those who can post a cute video of a cat riding a Roomba.

(Want to know who is even more concerned about odd moving things? Tuxie. Sweet, but very concerned.)

Two things of note for the afternoon. First, I have my weekly gossip session with Snowdrop. She'd just come in from playing outside and a plomp on the couch was very much in order. In answer to my question about what she did outside she tells me "I walked into drifts of snow. It was my destiny to go into them." 

It's the first time that I have her full attention since her Friday in-person school day and I grill her a little on who's who and what's what. She still claims recess is the best, but lunch comes in as a close runner-up.

 

 

"I had a choice of milk! I chose chocolate! And guess what, they showed us a Bernstein Bears video while we ate lunch!" This to discourage conversation while masks were off, but still, they're real kindergarten experiences and she is loving them.

(Our Zoom time gives me chance to also catch a few words with her mommy)

 

 

My second notable event? Oh, skiing of course. The sunshine is still radiant, the snow is still sparkling. We take a chance and go out on the real trails of the park (groomed for skiing)  and we are lucky. No close encounters with the others who are out today.

(Hey, is that Bernie Sanders??)

Evening. The sun sets at 5:11 and isn't that just so much better than the 4:25 we had to make do with on Solstice! Sparkling day. Positively sparkling!

Sunday - 324th

Two words -- that is all you need to get an idea of how this day looked here, on the farmette, in south central Wisconsin: it snowed.

When you pile on another half a foot, or maybe it's a whole foot of snow onto an already present layer, you get a remarkably similar landscape:

It's not unlike looking out on the ocean: ten feet deep? One thousand feet deep? It all looks the same from where you are. So you have to take my word for it -- the snow came down and it is deep and heavy.

(Dance, inspecting my shoveling)

And yes, beautiful. Because, as you may recall, Ed and I do love snow.

I'm out early, shoveling the path to the farmhouse and, too, digging out my car. (Ed joins later with the snowblower to blow out the driveway and the path to the barn.) And then we huddle inside, because that's what you do when it snows. And snows. You stay in, eat a solid breakfast...

... and then you bake. Baking aromas and snow outside go well together. [The young family requested brownies for Sunday dessert. Nothing could be easier than brownies. The trick is to find a recipe you love. We'll see if this one, from Alton Brown, based on cocoa rather than chocolate, and with plenty of brown sugar and almost no flour delivers. P.S. -- there is no good way to photograph brownies in a pan. In the same way that a deep layer of snow just looks white, these guys just look uniformly brown.]

(Wait, maybe it's better to cut them up for the photo...)

In the afternoon, we have our breakout moment: we ski. It's still lightly snowing, but we go out anyway, because, well, there's all that snow and there have been years when there hasn't been much at all, and so we are grateful.

Toward evening, I take the brownies and the main dinner items and some fruits and some carrots from our CSA to the home of the young family. Masked bandits on the loose!

At least until it's time to close the door and say good bye...

It's still snowing as I drive home. Go slow, listen to some folk music, stay grateful. 

And I am. We both are.

Saturday - 323rd

You know how the air feels just before a snowstorm: a little prickly, eerily still. Well that's our morning for you! The snow wont start until late afternoon, but it feels like it may want to deceive us and get here earlier. We're not the boss here, we merely watch and wait.

Winter colors are very much driven by the snow on the ground and the sun in the sky. If both are present, you get a range of beautiful tones that change as the day progresses. Shadows are a deep blue, the snow is lustrous, the yellow of the farmhouse and the red of the sheep shed stand out. But on a pre-storm day, the snow blends into the murky background of somber tones.

The animals all stay in their favorite protected shelters. For Dance, this seems to be our farmhouse. Just a visit! (But it's not a short visit.)

A friend who lives in California, described for me what's blooming there now. I think about what is blooming here now. It's all on a sunny window sill, or on the kitchen table, or in my head.

I spend many hours searching for books for the grandkids. It's a tricky project because I'm not there, eyeballing their bookshelves. And sending emails "do you have this, do you have that" kind of takes away any element of surprise. You want to give them a pick-me-up on a dark winter's day, not a promise of something someday in the future. Still, I search.

It's a day of quiet. We push ourselves out to ski, but it's an effort. (No regrets, once we're out!)

On the weekend, we search out parking lots with fewest cars and pick up the trails there. Today, that put us in the 9-Springs wetlands. Not necessarily our favorite place, but we do avoid people!

(Sometimes it's hard to believe that a successful day is measured by how good we were at avoiding all people!)

The skies turn even grayer and the snow begins to fall. And it will continue to fall tonight, and tomorrow. Ah, January in Wisconsin! Embrace winter. Learn to love a cold nose and a warm supper!

And popcorn, with Netflix.