Category: The Daily Slog

Groundhog Day – February 1

This morning was glorious. We went up to the barn around 6:30 to feed, and the sun was just rising over the hills, the horizon shone pink and orange, and the sky overhead gradually faded from cobalt to azure to swimming pool blue. It was the first morning in weeks that wasn’t covered in clouds and mist and threatening rain, more rain. It was cold, in the mid-thirties, but clear. That made all the difference.

First thing I did was climb up into the loft to get down two bales of hay (alfalfa for the all the girls–goats and sheep–and orchard grass for the boys). While I was there, I did a quick count and some math–it looks like we have enough of both varieties to last until the first of April, at which point we should be switching over to pasture. Another sign that spring is coming.

The feed lots are a mess, to be sure. Giant mud pits. The part of the pasture where we feed the sheep is the worst–imagine an area the size of a basketball court, gently sloping, covered with three or four inches of mud. Every step comes with a slip-n-slide, most with a slosh. Because the mud pit is near the gates, I have to walk through it to get anywhere else in the pasture. It could be worse, though, I got a note from a friend up north who raises horses, and she says her mud gets to be eight or ten inches deep. Deep enough to suck the boot right off your foot as you slog your way across. That’s material for bad dreams.

Groundhog day is my favorite day of winter: the half-way point. I know it’s not exactly the half-way point, but it’s close enough, especially given that January just lasted eleven weeks. Even if Punxsutawney Phil sees his shadow later this morning, there are only six weeks to go. Forty-two days. I can do forty-two days.

In January, I daydream about escaping to the beach, to Mexico, to New Zealand. Anywhere that’s not muddy and gray. I have two sets of friends right now enjoying vacations Down Under. One couple is touring Australia and New Zealand, posting pictures of back-stage passes of the Sydney Opera House, and the other couple is in New Zealand visiting their daughter and her family who have migrated there. Imagine migrating from Portland, Tennessee, to New Zealand. Wow.

I am not all jealous of my friends and their trips to Warmer Climes. Though I have long wanted to see New Zealand, I can wait. We’ve always planned to sell the farm and start traveling three or four years after I retire, which is coming soon. A couple of weeks ago, miserable in January, I wanted to hurry that process up, maybe call the realtor right after breakfast. But today I feel differently. The sun is out, it’s warming up, and though winter is still a force to be reckoned with, it will eventually grow old and whither away, just like a certain political party.

Life is not really like Groundhog Day, the movie. It’s not the same thing over and over, though at times it appears that way. Beneath the surface, just below our awareness, things are changing. The sun marches slowly north, degree by degree, bulbs long buried in soil, awaken and begin to sprout, the early grasses begin to green, winter’s tight-fisted hold on forsythia bushes, dogwood and redbud trees begins to loosen. Blossoms are coming.

Hi Folks. This is a test, and I’m hoping that you don’t see it. I am trying to figure out a way to keep this post (The Daily Slog) as a sort of journal, one that I can add to in bits and pieces without notifying everyone who has signed up every time I add a paragraph or a picture. I want the posts to be available for anyone who is interested, but I don’t want to clutter up people’s email with (what I think of as) unnecessary alerts.

If you do get this notice, then I need to look for other options.

Back to Mud- Friday, Jan 24

We are back to rain and temps in the mid-40s. I got the 210 gallon rain-water tank repaired, and yesterday’s rain filled it up again. The sheep yard has melted, and we’re back three or four inches of mud. Every time I take a step my foot slips an inch or two.

It rained most of the day yesterday, not hard, but steady. The ground is saturated, there’s standing water every where. Last night about 8:00, it was still drizzling, and I was trying to get Mike up to the barn to feed him. My goal was to get him to spend the night there. He’s big dog, about 8 years old, and is starting to suffer from hip dysplasia, so I try to get him to sleep in the barn when it’s either very cold or very wet.

Anyway, I was carrying his bowl, his food, and a flashlight in one hand and had Bobo on a leash in the other, and as I was trying to get Mike to get up and come with me, I slipped, fell, and covered the entire left side of my jeans in a thick coat of mud.

I guess the sight of me hitting the ground spurred Mike, and he got up (a bit of a struggle) and lumbered to the barn. By that point, wet, muddy, and mad, I locked him in with the goats and came down to change pants for the third time that day.

Frozen Morning – Monday, Jan. 20

It was 19 degrees when we woke up this morning at 5:30. After a couple cups of coffee and perusing the daily news we went out to feed. (Big news is that The New York Times endorsed both Elizabeth Warren and Amy Klobachar, arguing that the Democrats are still determining the direction of the party, and they feel that Warren and Klobachar represent the best options for either direction. Fine by me.)

The first problem I noticed was that the valve on our 210 gallon rain tank had busted/burst (take your pick–I’m still trying to determine the direction of this blog) and about half of the water had spilled and frozen onto the surrounding ground. That’s not as big a problem as it might seem. The valve and pipe that froze are made of PVC, cost about five bucks, and shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes to replace. The biggest headaches will be driving into town to get the parts and waiting for the ice to melt so I can get to it.

The second problem related to the cold was that the chick water was frozen, despite the fact that last night I set the container inside their coop under a heat lamp. The chickens’ water container was frozen, too, even though it’s heated electrically and was plugged in. This is potentially more expensive than the frozen PVC valve. Also, in case you’re wondering, yes, we have two chicken coops and two sets of chickens–Boomers and Millennials. Or Centrists and Progressives. They have their disagreements, but their unifying goal is a desire to keep the Fox away.

The sheep, of course, were screaming for their grain–normally people think of sheep as quiet animals. Not ours. If we’re late to feed (by late I mean, after dawn), they stand at the fence and bleat. Baah! Baah! Baah! Give us our grain! Where are you! Come on, Old Man! Hubba! Hubba! This morning, because of the cold and the lengthy NYT endorsement, the sheep were on a rampage.

Despite the problems, it was a good morning. The ground is frozen, and I could walk all the way back to Ram-Shackle without stepping in mud. There was little bits of snow in the air, like tufts of dried dandelion, and the barnyard and pasture had a sort of gray, bleak beauty.

We’ve had so much warm, wet weather this winter that I walk through two or three inches of mud every morning and every evening to feed the bleating sheep. The cold is a nice change.