January 4, 2025
SNOW
We awoke to a scattering of snow on the ground. The temperature had dropped into the low twenties, and the house, despite the heat from the wood boiler, held a chill. The gusting winds drove the cold through solid walls.
With livestock, we don’t have the luxury of staying indoors,
but once I am outdoors, dressed in layers to keep warm, I am thankful that I am
forced to leave the warmth of the house.
The fresh air, the animals, and the routine of milking distract me from
any restless or anxious thoughts. Upon
arriving at the barnyard, I noticed the cows standing in the morning sun,
soaking up the warm rays as they chewed their cud.
Late afternoon, I am outside once again. The wind is still blowing, and the cows are
lying together near the trees around the spring. The trees offer a break from the wind, and
the cows can still absorb what little warmth the winter sun provides. Buddy and I take the incline, walk past
the cows, and make our way to the higher elevations. I note the pain in my right foot and ankle is
minimal today, and my knee is mostly cooperative. I have recently begun hiking once again,
after a five-months off my feet due to an injury and complications. I am aware
of the uncharacteristic stillness of the last few months, and I wonder if the
quiet time has been more beneficial than harmful for me, or vice versa. Either way, perhaps I can take with me
something of value from the experience as I ease back into my old routine.
January 5, 2025
SQUIRREL
Small flakes of snow began falling as we drove home from church. I decided to walk Buddy before the ground
became treacherous on the slopes. I love the way snow covers over the drab of
winter. To witness the brief beauty of
snow-covered peaks and drifting hollows, I’m willing to pay the price: mud when
it melts.
When the dog and I reached the top of our property where the
land isn’t as steep, we slowed our pace while I let him explore. While Buddy was sniffing around, I noticed,
cascading from the base of a dead tree trunk, a small pile of hickory nut
shells. The way the empty shells lay in
such a pattern made me think that a squirrel must have sat there enjoying a
meal.
Upon closer observation, I thought I saw a tuft of fur curled
inside the hollowed-out trunk.
“It must be my
imagination,” I thought.
Then I could see it:
the fuzzy tail of a squirrel.
Then I couldn’t see it.
I squinted and forced
my mind to trace the shapes and distinguish the colors: the ground, the
decaying stump, and the indistinguishable mound were all the same shades of
brown and grey.
I started when my gaze fell upon two, bright, unblinking,
tiny eyes staring back at me.
It was then I could make out the entire body of a small
squirrel where it lay on its side, curled in a ball, unmoving.
Of course, I immediately wanted to grab my phone and take a
picture to document the encounter.
Before reaching for my phone, however, I realized that if I drew
attention to the squirrel where it lay exposed and defenseless, the dog would
become aware and kill it. I looked for a
second more, but unwilling to risk the small
creature’s life, I decided I would create a word picture instead of a
photograph.
January 6, 2025
ELM TREES
The winter storm changed from snow to ice. The spectacle was most evident on the
branches of the two Elm trees standing side by side and hovering over our century-old
barn. These trees have been the source
of more than a couple of arguments between Mike and me. Afraid the trees will fall on the barn, Mike
would love to see them removed. I, on
the other hand, can hardly give my approval for any tree to be brought down. After months, maybe years of arguing, in the
end, we came to a compromise (although we both still seem a bit bitter about it). For my part, I agreed to take down a large,
century old (or more) Maple that was in our yard. Close to the house it potentially could have
destroyed our home if it had fallen on it.
In exchange, Mike agreed to leave the Elms if I submitted to the tree trimmer’s cutting of the biggest branches that extended out and over the
barn.
The intrinsic design of the Elm seems to lend itself to more
advanced movement than some of the other trees.
The larger branches support smaller branches that cluster together in a
design that reminds me of loosely constructed heads of broccoli. The supporting branches flex in the wind, giving
the tree almost human-like qualities. I
swear I can feel those trees communicating with me!
Today, ice adorns the smallest details of these clustered elm
branches, encasing each twig in a tiny, frozen capsule, and transforming the tree
from utilitarian to decorative. I study the tree while listening to the heifers
munching on hay. I strain my neck to
look to the top. The trees are almost
2.5 times the height of our two-story barn.
The barn is over 100 years old, and I wonder which came first, the barn
or the trees? Most likely the barn
predates the trees, for many of the old varieties of elms were destroyed by
Dutch Elm disease, propagated by bark beetles.
Disease-resistant varieties became available in the 1930’s.
One of the things
that stands out to me is that the elm trees continue to drip and ooze sap after
they are cut. When we trimmed the
branches, the thick sap that bled from the cuts for days reminded me of endless
weeping. These trees, deeply scarred from
many years of cut and broken branches, remain resilient. Their reaching branches offer shade and
shelter for the livestock and a home for the birds. The secrets the old trees whisper are for all
who have ears to listen.
PINE TREES
Upon leaving the barnyard and returning to the house, I
stopped to hang my dirty barn rags on the clothesline where they will stay
until I have enough for a wash load. I
heard the crack of heavy branches, and I looked up in time to see the falling top
of one of the largest pines, hitting branches of neighboring trees, before
finally breaking up enough to land on the forest floor. The pine grove beside our house is thick and
a harvestable size for timber. On a
steep bank that is not easily accessible from the road, the trees have so far
been protected. To reach the timber,
logging trucks would have to destroy our farmland. That has been a deterrent for anyone who
might wish to harvest them.
As the pine top broke and fell to the earth in slow motion,
I turned and smiled mischievously at Mike.
His fear of the destruction from falling trees and his desire for clear,
farmable land remains a tension between us.
“I’m not saying a word,” he declared with a righteous air.
January 7, 2025
A WINTER DAY
We awoke to snow flurries, 50 mph wind gusts, temperatures
in the teens, and neither of us in a hurry to get outdoors. I stumbled to the kitchen and put water on
the stove to boil for my first cup of hot tea. While the water came to a boil,
I assembled the milking machine, a task I have been performing for the last
twenty years. After pouring the hot
water over the tea bags, I layered my clothing, starting with thermal underwear to
insulate me from the cold. Ready for the outdoors except for my coat, hat, and
gloves, I add honey and cream to my tea and pause to sip it slowly before I
head outdoors. This morning routine
requires no conscious effort for me and I like it that way.
We went into town for the afternoon, a one-way trip of about
45 minutes. We were surprised at how
many folks were out, about and shopping considering the adverse weather. Mike had some paperwork that took only a
minute to sign and then we had some lunch before picking up some fresh fruit
and the makings for a salad. We mostly
eat seasonally and have most of what we need frozen, canned, and grown or raised
right on our property. This time of year,
it can be a mental and physical boost to have something fresh to pair with our
meals. We saved money by buying in bulk
from a locally owned produce market, a box of oranges for Mike, and a half box
of grapefruit for me. These are treats
we don’t normally buy for ourselves. We also stopped by Big Lots. Hearing they were going out of business, I
wanted to stock up on bleach. I use
bleach to clean my milking equipment and to soak my barn and milk rags. It's cheaper at Big Lots than anywhere else
and I usually buy several gallons when I have a twenty percent off coupon. I took the remaining six gallons of bleach from
the shelf.
I intended to walk the dog before evening chores, but he
never would settle down and let me put his harness on. He was running and playing in the yard,
excited to have me to himself. It was
too cold for such games, with the wind gusting at 50 MPH and the wind-chill around
zero degrees. I lost patience after
waiting on him for about ten minutes. Pyrenees
dogs are bred to think independently.
Poor Buddy, whom I suspect has a bit of lab in his genetic background,
doesn’t know how to balance his independent nature with these sudden outbursts
of playfulness and excitement. Since I
didn’t want to take a chance of falling or twisting my knee, I finally just
gave up on Buddy and left him in the yard while I went about my business. His happiness turned sour once he realized I
had walked away and wasn’t coming back to him.
With the bitter weather, the cattle gather inside the barn
in the evening knowing that Mike or I will be out to check on them and feed the
weaned heifers. The momma cows and baby
calves have a hay ring where we keep round bales for them while having access
to get inside out of the weather. The
weaned heifers are fed portions of square bales morning and night and receive small amounts of grain as they transition from nursing to
grazing/hay. All have gathered inside
and appear happy despite the cold. Two
of the smaller calves are running and jumping, playing together. Our yearling bull who doesn’t realize he’s
supposed to be a grown-up is playing with them and kicking up his heels. Some of the momma cows are standing placidly,
chewing their cud. Others are trying to
find a way to reach the hay and grain I am feeding to the weaned calves. One of the calves doesn’t fit neatly into
either group. He’s bigger and older than
the babies but not yet weaned. I have
begun separating him from his mother at night and returning him to her after I
milk her in the mornings. This gives us additional
milk and eases him into the weaning process.
He enjoys seeing his friends, the other weaned calves and waits for me
by the gate in the evenings. Any “extra”
milk we have had this fall and winter has been used to feed “orphaned”
calves. First, we had a calf separated
from his mother which we bottle-fed earlier in the fall and now our extra milk
is going to feed a twin whose mother rejected him. He belongs to neighbors who have three young
boys. It’s such a joy to get updates on
the health and well-being of the calf and see the photos of the boys helping to
feed him. They say he is thriving with
access to wholesome, real milk.
January 8, 2025
ABUNDANT CAUTION
After my abandoning him yesterday when Buddy wouldn’t settle
down and let me put his halter on him so that we could walk, he decided he
better get with the program today. I
avoided the areas with the worst ice, and we were able to climb all the way to
the peak of our property. By staying in
the grass and off the main trails, I was able to get enough traction to keep
from slipping. The glazed snow, frozen
over from the relentless, blowing winds crunched under every step. I walked like I imagined a Neanderthal would
move, solidly planting one foot before I lift the other, and pausing before I
begin again. I don’t want to take any
chance of falling. I envy the way Mike
moves across the slippery slopes, light-footed and with the confidence of a cat.
He laughs at my caution and says, “Just walk!”
I can’t do that. I am always afraid of falling.
The way we traverse the difficult path is indicative of our
individual approaches to everyday life as well.
I am always planting my feet, cautious about moving forward, and worried
I will step wrong and fall. Mike doesn’t
allow himself to be crippled by excessive worry and caution. “I’m probably not going to fall, but if I do,
I’ll get back up and continue forward,” seems to be his attitude.
January 9, 2025
JIMMY CARTER
The day was routine except that I watched a large portion of
President Carter’s funeral on this National Day of Mourning. One cannot feel sorrow that a good man who
has lived a long life of service is now at rest, but we can mourn our loss as a
nation.
I remember watching on our little black-and-white television
the unfolding of events the year that Jimmy Carter first ran for President. Then again, we watched when he was defeated for
a second term. With paternal ties to Georgia and a lot of family still living there, we were a bit biased about having a Georgia
Farmer in the White House.
The Carters gave so much of themselves not only to our
country’s citizens but also to help people throughout the world after their
four years in Washington D.C. I came to love them so much. Their humility and their works of service helped
me to realize that not all Christians were self-absorbed. The Carters used their position as President
and Former First Lady not to bring attention to themselves, but to serve
others.
My brother, Jimmy, left Missouri and moved back to our
familial roots in the mountains of North Georgia and over time, became friends
with Jason Carter, grandson of President and Mrs. Carter. Even though Jimmy isn’t currently actively
involved in politics, he and Jason text, speak on the phone and have an easy
friendship that extends beyond political affiliations.
Today, I cried, not because the lives of President and Mrs.
Carter have ended. They lived long and well,
and I know they are happy to be at rest, once again together. I am sad because I wonder if we will ever
know another President and First Lady with hearts like the Carters. Will our grandchildren ever have such fine
examples in their lives? The current
state of our nation and our world makes me anxious.
The Carters did not serve others so that they could be set
on a pedestal, but I am happy that their lives were public so that we can
profit from their example.
January 10, 2025
A DAY TRIP
We never set an alarm, even on Sundays when we go to church,
and we typically wake up no later than dawn.
This morning, however, we set an alarm and went to milk the cows in the
dark. Mike had to load a steer and drive
over the mountain to the processors. He
needed to arrive early and get back home so that we could drive to Abingdon to
pick up a trailer.
With more snow in the forecast, we wanted to be ahead of the
storm. We made it back to Hillsville and decided that we were far enough ahead of the bad weather that we could stop
at our favorite Mexican Restaurant and enjoy lunch. We made it home just as the snow began accumulating. Mike took care of the animals early and we
decided to have a quiet evening snacking, drinking hot tea, reading, and
watching television.
January 11, 2025
ANOTHER SNOW DAY
We awoke this morning to the distinct sound (or should I say
lack of sound) that occurs when there are more than a couple of inches of new
snow on the ground. It’s as if we’ve put
on earmuffs and all the usual noises are muted.
The four inches of new snow allowed me to move quicker than
I could on ice alone. I remained cautious, however. Once I made it to the barn, the cattle were waiting
and eager to begin the morning routine.
When they were all milked and fed, the momma cows loafed while the
younger calves played. Round and round
in the snow the babies ran enjoying the event just like tiny humans would do. I stood and watched for a while, this simple
scene filling my heart with joy.
Back indoors, there’s no end to the work to be done. I strained and poured the milk in jars,
washed the milk totes and milking equipment, and began preparations for our main
meal of the day. (We eat our largest
meal earlier in the day.) Laundry, vacuuming, and making mozzarella round out
my afternoon. Then it’s time to walk Buddy.
I dread going out in the weather but once outdoors, I am happy that the
dog gives me the excuse I need even when the days are less than ideal. The drifting snow makes the walk a bit more
difficult but knowing there’s less chance of my slipping gives me the
confidence to walk faster. Buddy is
happy to be on the go. On the elevated
portion of our property, the wind is brutal, and my exposed face goes
numb. The rest of me, dressed in layers,
is warm. The snow drifted along the
edges of the field forcing me to move inward and away from the fence line. I see rabbit, fox, and deer tracks in the snow
and of course, the trails where the steers have been traversing the field. The views from the top are always
breathtaking and the effort it takes today makes me appreciate the splendor
even more.
January 12, 2025
WINTER STRUGGLES
Winter is both a blessing and a curse. The slower pace is nice but the darker days
mess with my mental well-being. The
injury to my knee and subsequent ankle issues that kept me off my feet for the
four months preceding Winter hasn’t helped my disposition. With additional downtime, reading has kept me
from losing my mind. I devour books in various
formats: traditional, e-books, kindle, and audio. Most of my selections are
borrowed through Libby, a free app accessible with my local library card.
What I have not been able to do is write. I worked so hard for the past two years,
writing for various magazines, speaking at several events, and pushing myself
to the point of fatigue. After I met all
my contractual obligations in the fall of 2024, I thought I would take a short
break and then return to a slower-paced writing routine. Instead, I found myself distracted by a
physical injury, then the holidays, and life in general.
Forced rest isn’t something that’s easy for me. I’m a classic case of using work and keeping
busy to combat the negatives in my life.
I suppose psychologists would call that “avoidance”, but it’s been my
coping mechanism of choice. Unable even
to milk my cows or climb the bank to feed the dog without assistance from Mike
during the worst of it, I’ve struggled to keep my wits about me.
I am so much better now, and life has returned mostly to
what it once was. In reflection, the
downtime wasn’t a waste. I started low-impact exercises to strengthen my hips
and legs to take pressure off my knees and I began focusing on eating to reduce
inflammation. I consistently rest in the
middle of the day, and I am learning that what doesn’t get done today, will
still be there for me tomorrow. I
realize the forced rest has kept me from living under constant adrenal fatigue
as I had been doing for most of my adult life.
Sometimes it takes a
major event to force us to stop and consider how hard we are on ourselves
mentally, emotionally and physically. I
hope I can continue to take better care of myself moving forward, for life is
short, and quality of life is even shorter.
January 13, 2025
MAKING WINTER BEAUTIFUL
She found beauty in every season, but Winter with my
grandmother was magical.
I am not the only one who recognized and remembers my
grandmother’s excitement at the sight of the very first snowflakes falling from
the sky. Others remember and remind
me.
I have childhood memories of snowstorms, snowballs, snowmen,
and sledding. There were the birds she
fed on her kitchen windowsill, so tame she could almost touch them.
Looking back, it
seems predictable that my Nan and Pa would spend so many years in the frozen
north.
When we were both in Alaska and the days of Winter seemed especially
long, my grandmother wasn’t afraid to suggest a change of pace to break up the
long dark days.
“Let’s drive to Fairbanks
and go out to eat,” she might suggest. (Never
mind that it was a 200-mile round trip, and the temperature was 40 below zero
with ice fog hanging thick in the air.) Or,
she might suggest a trip to Anchorage (400 miles one way) or to the port of Valdez (over 500 miles round trip) to see the mounds of snow that
had been shoveled from rooftops.
Nan understood that to witness dazzling snow on the mountain
peaks or watch the Aurora Borealis in all its splendor, or the arctic fox and
the great white owl, one had to also experience the darkness of an Alaskan Winter.
I don’t know that Nan ever lost her zeal for Winter. If she did, I never knew it. While I still mirror her excitement when I
witness the first snowflakes of the season, I can’t say I tolerate the cold
weather and darker days with the same sense of excitement I did when I had my
grandmother’s frequent reminders to notice and enjoy the treasures that only the
cold and darkness can bring.
Last night, I dreamed of her, as I sometimes do. We were in the kitchen, preparing food
together in her Alaskan home. There was
laughter, joy, and a sense of peace.
Maybe she came to me in my dreams to remind me to savor the moment, for
even the darkness of winter holds blessings to be remembered.
Today, I dressed warmly and walked in the snow as a large moon
hung suspended in the early evening sky.
Across the way, I witnessed the snow on Buffalo Mountain and while it
doesn’t begin to have the splendor of the Alaskan range, it’s still
beautiful.
I’m thankful for winter, for winter’s past, and for my grandmother, who continues to influence my life.
