february snaps

It's February in New England.

Best to just take it as it comes.

~~~~~

wordless wednesday

~~~~~

quiet

It's that quiet, pre-dawn time when the world outside my window has very little color. Ordinarily, it is a view of very dark shades, with light gradually increasing.

This morning, it's reversed: nearly greyscale, with a strong emphasis on the light end of the spectrum.

 

The first birds - a cardinal and a titmouse - have caught my eye as a flicker of motion in an otherwise still, east-to-west panorama. The birds are silhouettes, swooping to the thin branches of shrubs now arched with a heavy burden of snow.

When there is this much snow balanced in narrow ridges on even the tiniest of branches, you can be sure there is quite a lot on the ground.

The goats will be in no hurry to start their day.

Nor am I, really, though Moxie and Della will have something to say about that.

But the wild birds have been busy at the feeder for a good while already.

And now it is light enough to see them as more than a silhouette. 

Good morning!

~~~~~

monday notes

Lately the weather has fluctuated between bitter cold and right-around-freezing, the latter feeling downright balmy by comparison. And after a Sunday composed entirely of rain, I am relieved to report most of the vegetation has been freed from that dangerous coating of ice seen in the image above.

The ground, however, is another story.

These are paths leading to chores:

The ice cleats are getting quite a workout.

Someone mentioned seeing a bobcat the other day.

It's not exactly common to see a bobcat here, but this is the time of year when it's somewhat more likely. They are focused less on being invisible to humans and more on socializing with other bobcats.

I have no bobcat to show you, but here is some local wildlife.

Very local.

A little too local.

 This squirrel was taking a brief break from trying to chew it's way into the attic. It is perched snugly between two Barnyard Theatre floodlights, on the power line that runs between the porch gable and the workshop. Surrounded by wiring, in other words. And this squirrel was unimpressed by the woman standing in her slippers on the ice below, shouting crossly and waving her arms because she had been awoken by the awful sound of something chewing the wall.

The little ventilation opening at the peak of the gable is blocked with wire screen, but clearly more must be done and very soon; I cannot allow squirrels into the attic again. Maybe this one raised babies here before. Or maybe this one was born in my attic. Well, squirrel, it's true what that fellow said: you can never go home again. I watched a squirrel carrying leaves - one mouthful at a time - up an oak the other day, making a proper squirrel nest. Kindly choose a nice tree and do the same.

When not shouting at squirrels, I am continuing my daily markmaking efforts.
This was last night, #42:

Painting was a nice distraction while backing up tens of thousands of image files to external drives. I later fell asleep during the backing up - midway through 2015 - and had to finish this morning. Because...tomorrow the laptop is going back to rehab for another "7 to 10 days." Not everything was fixed on the recent visit, and enough is wrong that it cannot be ignored. I'm not thrilled with the idea of being computer-less again, but as far as the repair goes, I feel hopeful. The laptop has it's own Case Manager this time.

So this blog may be quiet for a bit, but I'll try to visit yours via the Tiny Cellphone. Apologies in advance for any spelling errors in comments - I can barely see the cell screen so the keyboard tapping is pretty hit-or-miss.

~~~~~

one moment

Here's to finding comfort and inspiration in moments of beauty,

however fleeting or unfocused.

~~~~~

poor pictures from a big storm

Tansy?

"What?"

Just checking!

This is a Real Snow we are having.

Knee-deep at noon, and still coming down.

Chores took...a long time.

All the goats have multiple options for shelter.

They tend to find a spot, stay there for a while, then move to another spot.

Often, this means other goats get shifted out of that other spot.

Seeing that the snow was predicted to continue into the night,

I moved Tsuga and Tansy and Fern into the Corner Suite.

They get "shifted" more often than the others,

and I wanted them to have a comfortable night.

With lots of hay.

In fact, every goat will have lots and lots of hay tonight.

There will be much wasted hay. Can't be helped.

Real-time blogging interruption:

Campion is yelling in distress.

I'm going to put on my last pair of dry trousers and get the flashlight.

Real-time blogging update:

Campion was being kept out of the big barn.

His mama and sister were inside,

and he wanted very much to be inside with them.

(Someday I'll write a post about goat bonding.)

But three other goats were also inside,

and even though there was still plenty of room,

and even though no one was physically blocking the doorway -

which is eight feet wide -

Campion was definitely being prevented from entering.

(Someday I will write a post about herd dynamics.)

I escorted an ice-encrusted Campion in from the snow, 

had a chat with the group in the barn,

and distributed even more hay.

Then I made the rounds again, checking the other goats.

Everyone was settled when I came back inside,

and I sincerely hope they stay that way at least til daylight.

I do not enjoy putting on wet trousers.

And now I'm about ready for bed at 8 PM.

A cup of tea, I think. Maybe an audiobook.

But before I sign off,

let me show you what the birdfeeders looked like today.

All day. Non-stop.

 At one point, the pile of snow atop that feeder was over a foot deep,

and the the line it hangs on was sagging perilously.

I cleared the snow off, added more seed, and came back inside.

Next time I looked out, that feeder was covered in little birds again,

and next to them, I saw this gem - bright even on a dark day:

Good night!

~~~~~

a week of winter

A week ago, the weather finally shifted into Winter.

Billions of tiny ice pellets fell from the sky, met a surface of unseasonable mud, and formed a layer of frozen slush with a smooth crust strong enough to support my weight. In fact, it supports the weight of even the heaviest goats and is very slippery. All the goats are having trouble getting around, as am I.

Then there was a light snowfall.

And another.

This made the ice look like a soft and harmless dusting of snow, but in fact it made the ice even more slippery.

Despite the metal cleats attached to my huge insulated muck boots, this surface can take me down. I have fallen flat at least three times, and "caught" myself several more times.

Question:
do you think falling is worse than doing that awful jolt-and-flail in an effort to keep from falling? I'm not sure; I think it may be easier on the body to Just Fall. But it's painfully reflexive, that adrenaline-flavored effort to stay on one's feet. I never seem to have a nanosecond to choose whether to relax or fight gravity.

Piper has the right idea about how not to fall:

remain airborne as much as possible.

~~~

It's been gloomy and grey quite a lot this week. And very, suddenly, bitterly cold. Time to start feeding the wild birds! Before putting the "squirrel-proof" feeder back up, I scattered handfuls of seed on the ice and was thrilled when a flutter of little birds appeared only minutes later. Here are some (pretty terrible) pictures, taken through hazy grey air in the late afternoon:

(I am not expecting a call from the Cornell Ornithology Lab

asking to use these images. Heh.)
~~~

Saturday brought a welcome change: the sky was blue and the sun was bright. Saturday is the day my town dump is open, so I loaded my bag of Still Making An Effort at Cleaning the House rubbish onto the hayboggan and slid it - wheeee! - down the driveway to where the Little Green Sportswagon is parked at the bottom. And there I found a little gem of ferny glory, lit through with morning sunlight:

Ahhhhhh.
Such a relief for eyes weary of gloom!
~~~

When I did the evening chores tonight, it was 9F (-13C). After feeding and watering everyone, I sat in the barn for a while, wrapped from head to knees in my ancient down coat but still feeling the cold of the barn wall gradually reaching my shoulders like one of my icepacks. In the dark, I listened to the sound of Dara pulling hay from the manger on my left and chew-chew-chewing away. I just love that sound. Then I had stereo, when one of the kids (I think it was Tansy, but I couldn't see her in the dark) started nibbling hay on the other side of the barn. Through the open doors I could see the lights on the tree, reflected from window to window on the porch. Like this:

This makes me so happy.
It may become a new tradition for me:
not just a Christmas Tree, but a Winter Tree.

Makes sense, really, since the association of a decorated, lighted tree with Christmas is very recent - Queen Victoria, was it? - while the bringing indoors of greenery and light in Winter is old. Maybe as old as the human need for hope and cheer in a cold, dark season.

Right this moment, for example, it's after 3 AM.
I've been awake since midnight with a few aches and pains.
Not complaining; it's just the way it is.
But this is my view from bed:

So magical.

Better than narcotics.

Truly.

Good night :)
~~~~~