Storm Prep...

This time of year, I tend to think about food more than I do in the summer. When it's easy-breezy grilling season, supper most nights consists of some form of protein on the grill and a salad or a side vegetable. Quick and simple. But when the thermometer registers "brrrr!" and the view from every window is white, my thoughts turn to soups, casseroles, and baking. 

              

 I get the happiest of feelings when I bring my old recipe file out and rifle through it. It's terribly disorganized, so finding the recipe I'm looking for usually entails a bit of a hunt. It is then that I find cards written in familiar penmanship from loved ones no longer here to enjoy the tastes they shared.  Barbara Jackman's "Hungry Jack Casserole", my mother-in-law's recipe for "million dollar pancakes," copies of favorite recipes cut from magazines or printed off the 'net. It's always a walk down memory lane. Since a major storm is coming to visit tonight, I have my eye set on a new stew recipe that looks delicious and will reheat nicely on the woodstove if we lose power. 

We had snow on Friday night, too.  It came down fast enough that when we let the dogs out for a last potty break before bedtime, they came in frosted in a layer of cold fluff after only a few moments outside. We did a lot of shoveling and snow blowing on Saturday morning. I love winter, but even I am cringing a bit at the thought of dealing with more white stuff on top of what we already have. 

When you live in an area that gets a lot of snow, you learn how to prepare for predicted storms. In my case, most of that preparation includes getting the animals ready. Friday, I did a deep clean on the goat room, filling their bedding area with bright shavings and fluffy straw. 

Saturday, I did the same thing for both chicken coops. 

None of the animals choose to leave their houses when the snow is flying, so it's important that their spaces are extra clean and dry. 

The preparations for humans entail filling the wood crib to the brim, laying in groceries, and making sure all the laundry and dishes are clean in case we lose power. And cooking, which brings us full circle to thinking about food. I have a loose menu sketched out for the week, and Chris is off at the store procuring ingredients as I write this. Before the first flakes fall, animals and humans alike will be settled in cozily, bellies full. I can't speak for the critters, of course, but I will be dreaming of spring. 

Sad news and new things...

 Two weeks ago, Bravo, our almost ten-year-old English Shepherd, had a bad case of digestive upset. I tried my normal tricks, but he still felt crummy, so we went off to visit the veterinarian. They did all the right things to make him feel better: subcutaneous fluids, anti-nausea medication, anti-diarrheal medication, probiotics, antibiotics, and a recommended bland diet. They took X-rays of his tummy, and he compliantly lay on his back for them to do so. They tested his blood and gave him a physical exam. To my abject horror, the doctor found that his lymph nodes were dramatically enlarged. I know from my many years working with dogs that this can mean lymphoma, an incurable disease. They took a sample from one of his nodes and sent it off. The results were positive, and I am bereft. 

I often quip that Bravo has been my reward for all of the often naughty dogs I've had in my life. He is almost a perfect pet. We can safely leave rib-eye steaks (or any tempting food) on the counter, knowing he will never help himself. He's perfectly housebroken and has been since he was 10 weeks old. He is polite with the customer dogs, affectionate with every human he meets, biddable, and kind. He is trustworthy around infants and toddlers, guards our livestock, and barks politely to announce guests. He's a happy dog, a joy to be around, handsome to look at, and silky to pat. I adore him, and he adores me right back. He's been incredibly healthy his entire life, never having so much as an ear infection. He looks and acts much younger than he is, running and leaping to catch his frisbee. Many dogs of his breed live well into their teens, and I fully anticipated he would do the same. I have looked forward to years more of enjoyment with him. Now with this new diagnosis, I am sharply aware of the limited days we actually have. I cannot imagine my life without him, but I'm having to try. Meanwhile, he is feeling fine and acting completely normal. We are slathering on the love and letting him eat too many treats. We play his favorite games and go for walks. And I try not to cry.  We've shared many adventures. He's introduced me to new friends and brought me happiness in more ways than I can count. I wish he could live forever. 

We've had weeks of bitterly cold weather. Negative and single digits. This brings worry about all my animals. Homer, the "barn cat," has moved himself into the grooming studio during the cold, basking in front of the heater and looking smug. I've taken all the recommended steps to keep the chickens and goats as comfortable as possible, and they have all fared well. The chickens have even been laying lots of eggs, a sign that all is fine with them.  We have the goats' house bedded deep with shavings and straw, so they can snuggle in. I have a camera in their house and peek in at them at night, pleased to see them all cuddled together, sharing body heat. 

When goats are concerned or fearful about something, they stamp their front feet and loudly snort an alarm sound. They do this if they see a strange animal, like a fox, in their pasture, or if an unfamiliar dog visits. On the bitterly cold mornings, I can't help but laugh when I open the door to their cozy barn, and they flood out. They look around, feel the icy air, and in unison all stamp their tiny hooves and snort. They clearly don't approve of the cold and let me know it. I dish out a big breakfast, and that cheers them up a bit, but I know they will be glad when the cold abates. 

My neighbor took this lovely photo of our house one morning after a recent snowstorm. It looks so cozy that if I didn't live here, I'd wish I did. 

It's especially cozy inside, because after two years of looking, I bought a new sofa. It's not only a lovely color (French blue) with deliciously soft fabric, but it's also designed for homes with kids and dogs. If a toddler happens to dump a drink on the fabric, the liquid wipes right off. Every single bit of the fabric can be removed and tossed in the washing machine if needed, and pet hair wipes off like a dream. The cushions are memory foam, and once I get myself ensconced, I absolutely do not want to get up. The 4-year-old Owlet has dubbed it the "Snuggly Cuddly Couch" and has given up the portable crib she's napped in since infancy to rest on the couch at sleepy time instead. Wise choice. 

I treated the windows to new lace panels, and niece Aimee found me pretty "new" end tables on Marketplace for a bargain. She fetched them, freshened the paint, and delivered them to us. What a gal. I think of her with deep gratitude every time I enter the room.  I love the way the space is looking. It still needs a few tweaks to be "just right," but it's definitely headed in the right direction. Cozy, comfy, and practical. 

While life is riddled with wrenching moments of sadness and loss, it is equally filled with beauty, kindness, comfort, and the chance to find things to be glad about. Three pairs of Eastern Bluebirds have arrived here despite the weather to feast at our feeder (more mealworms, please!) and check out the local nest boxes. Their brilliant feathers and cheery song take my breath away and remind me that spring is on the horizon, with the promise of new life, beauty, and anticipated bliss.