Noel '20...

 I felt I had this whole adulting thing under control this holiday season. My decorations went up right after Thanksgiving, and I was pleased with how everything looked. I started shopping early, and had thoughtful gifts nicely wrapped and under the tree long before Christmas. Groomers tend to work too hard this time of year, because everyone wants their dog pretty for the holiday. One groomer I know said, "I'm living on coffee, Redbull and cookies. I can't wait for it to be over."  Our schedule was busy but not excessively so, because we didn't overbook. The whole season was deliciously pleasant. 

Because of Covid restrictions we can't invite customers in now, so I didn't make the hundreds of cookies I usually do, but I did manage to bake one batch of sugar cookies. 

Bravo supervised. 

Although we had a foot of snow before Christmas, the holiday weather turned weirdly warm, with high winds and heavy rain. All the snow was washed away, and not only did we have a brown Christmas, we even found this wee flower growing in the front yard. 

It was just the four of us on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. We collaborated and dreamed up what special foods we'd like to celebrate with. On Christmas eve I made Oyster stew. Evans brought the fresh oysters and nicely shucked them for me while I made the base of the stew. 

It was only the second time I'd ever made this recipe, but we all agree it is delicious. A medley of fresh butter, local cream and fresh Jersey milk, a small bowl is all you need. We also cooked a fresh pork roast, from a whole pig we just filled our freezer with. Raised by a farmer friend, that pig drank a lot of our fresh goat milk over the summer, so had direct ties to our little farm. We opened a special bottle of wine gifted to us by Evans father. It was amazing. More adulting success happened when we finished our last spoonful of Oyster stew just as the timer announced that the popovers I'd made were done. Rarely does the timing on a meal work so well.

On Christmas morning Santa filled the absolutely beautiful new stockings I'd been gifted (early!) from Rachel and Evans. I have been looking for white Christmas stockings for a few years, but had not found any I loved. They did, though!  White linen, lined, decorated with vintage lace handkerchiefs at the top. Each has a little tag made from porcelain, where one can paint the recipients name. At our house the "kids," and dogs receive stockings. The most excited each year is Bravo, who is smart enough to know that once a year that thing hanging on the banister if filled with goodies to delight a good pup. 

 If you look, you can see him sitting on the stairs, wishing someone would help him access his loot. Santa also brought a super soft bed, both dogs took to it immediately. 

One more dog picture, just because. 

The chickens got a big old plate of yummy human food for a Christmas treat, the ducks enjoyed Romaine lettuce leaves torn into their water, and the goats and donkeys share a treat gift made of compressed seeds, grains, molasses and salt. It is hung where they can lick but not bite it, and offers hours of entertainment.  

During the darkest days of a New England winter, extra dark this year due to the pandemic and political upheavals, there is warmth and brightness for all  here at FairWinds. And for this I am ever grateful. 

Big snow...

They predicted a big storm was coming, and the weather turned very cold. Between grooming pets yesterday, I dashed out for brief periods and cleaned the chicken coops and donkey dorm. I'd finish one, come in and thaw out while I worked, then tackle another while Rachel bathed the next pet.  I like knowing all the animals have clean, dry bedding when bad weather is coming, and felt quite accomplished to finish the busy work day knowing I'd done all those extra chores, too.

When I woke this morning it was 13 degrees outside, but no snow had fallen. I started to put the donkey and goat hay out in the pasture to encourage them to move about (and poop OUTSIDE!) but the wind was strong enough to just scatter the hay, so they got room service. I put the chickens fresh food and water outside for the same reason. Before I got done with chores a few flakes of snow began to fall. Within 20 minutes the ground was covered. I trooped back outside and moved the birds food and water into the coop. They refuse to go out in the snow. They got a little  warm oatmeal to supplement their regular grub, it seemed fitting on a cold morning. 

There was hardly any traffic due to the snow, so I walked Bravo up the road a little ways, letting him race about on the snowy street to his hearts content. He loved it, and has asked politely for a repeat performance, but I'm staying in a while.  He and Flirt had breakfast of sirloin steak that had been accidentally thawed when a friends freezer malfunctioned,  then snuggled in. 

Flirt never fails to be in the warmest spot.

The wild birds seem glad the feeders are full, and practically need an air traffic controller to keep them from colliding as they zoom in and out to dine. 

Inside the house is cozy. The Christmas decorations are festive, and the kettle of water on the woodstove has cinnamon sticks and cloves in it, so the air smells spicy and sweet. Watching the snow come down I think, for the millionth time, about my friend Terese. How she loved Christmas time, and she maintained a childhood wonder of snow until the day she died. She would have loved being here today, watching this storm. Living in the south almost her entire life, the snows she experienced were brief and rare. Last year, when she was sick and in and out of the hospital, we talked almost every day. I would usually call her after I was done with work. I'd sit by the wood stove and we'd have a good chat. How fortunate I am to have warm memories of her... but how I wish she could be here to share this with me. 

We had a happy surprise this week when our friend Jean popped in for a (masked) visit. It's been way too long since we saw her. She is one of Flirts most very favorite humans, and they had a sweet little reunion. She brought us kind gifts and we had a brief but jolly chat before she was off again. 

Because of the storm all our grooming customers have been moved to Saturday. Today will be spent working on other projects, writing and being quiet. I'll make a pot roast early and let it cook low and slow, perfuming the house as it does. 

My brother in Vermont says they have 33 inches of snow and it's still coming down. My sister in Massachusetts reports about 18 inches of powder, and more on the way. Looking out my window there is a curtain of snow falling so fast and thick I can barely see the trees at the edge of the property. Soon I will bundle up and go out to take more food and water to the animals... then enjoy this quiet day of  big snow. 

Birds and boots...

 When I ordered my last flock of chickens, I planned on 19 pullets (girls) and 1 boy. The hatchery sent 21 birds, and I ended up with two roosters. They got along ok, so I kept both. The only problem was that there was a lot of loving going on. When chickens mate, the rooster hops onto the hens back, and he grabs her head or neck with his beak. This makes for some feather loss on the favorite hens due to the claws and bills.  As winter bears down upon us, the bare spots on the hens makes me fret. I decided that one rooster had to go to cut down on all the romance. I was happy to find a good home for one boy, and last night after the birds went to bed, I scooped Randy II off his cozy roost and brought him in to await his ride. 

He was uncomplaining, and went off to a new flock sitting in the lap of his new human. On the bird front there is this story. We have three ducks. They live in a hutch next to the chicken coop. In the past few weeks they've been putting themselves to bed in the coop at night instead of their own hutch.. This is actually a good thing. The coop is much more snug, and if they move there not only will they be warmer, but it will reduce the number of houses I need to clean on a regular basis. Last night two ducks went into the coop, and the third put herself to bed UNDER the coop. This is not safe, and we tried to cajole her into joining her family. She refused. We tried three times, hours apart. No go. 

About an hour after we went to bed, when I was in a deep, deep sleep, I heard loud, LOUD quacking. right outside my window. So loud it woke me, so loud it made the dogs go berserk. Groggy, I got up, put on clothes, and went to investigate. I didn't really want to lace up my boots, so jammed my feet into Crocs instead. Crocs are comfy rubber shoes, but decidedly dangerous on slippery surfaces. It was snowing. Crocs were a poor choice. Out I went, dogs in tow, to check on the loud duck. She, meanwhile, had put herself into her hutch. I shut her in and called it a night. She was alone but safe.  Walking back inside, fully awake now, I realized how dumb it was that I was outside, in the cold and dark, in my pajamas and slippery shoes. If I fell and hurt myself I'd be stuck there until Chris missed me in the morning. Bravo would probably lie on top of me to keep me warm, but Flirt would have burrowed under my clothes to save herself! This weekend I will buy real boots for night time forays into the icy world. 

Topic change:  I posted previously that I used to knit, but never very well. I only made very basic, simple things. Then I quit knitting 25 or so years ago. Our houseguest last summer made some super cute booties, and I itched to make some, too. Rachel kindly, patiently, sweetly helped me and today I finished these adorable little things: 

For real knitters, these are ridiculously simple, but for me they are kind of a big deal. Made from Maine wool, and super soft, they will keep some sweet baby feet warm soon. 

Tonight there is only one rooster in the coop, but all three ducks are safely tucked. I will NOT venture out in slippery shoes, but I will start a new knitting project soon. And get new boots. 

Outage...

 The forecast for Saturday promised a Nor'easter. High winds and heavy rain followed by dropping temperatures, ice and snow. It came as promised. We had planned dinner out with friends, a rare event these days, and were enjoying a lovely evening when the restaurant lost its electrical power. They added more candles to our table and served our food. It was delicious. Chris went to his car and fetched a flashlight. The chef took it to the kitchen and continued his work. 

Driving home the roads were littered with wind blown branches and the rain pelted down. We noted which houses had lights glowing, and were sad when ours did not. We had left the wood stove burning, so it was warm inside, if dark. We went to bed early and woke to find the power was still out. About an inch of icy snow had fallen, and the wind had plastered it to the sides of buildings, trees, and shrubs. 

I go into a strange funk when we have an outage. Living where we do, it means that we can't run water because the well pump runs by electricity. This means no washing hands or dishes, no flushing toilets, and most importantly, no watering the animals. Knowing we could lose power any time, I keep 10 or 15 gallons of animal water at the ready in the house, and fill the goat and donkeys big, heated water tub to the brim every day, but if we are without power for long, things get dicey. It also means that our chest freezers, full of lovely chicken we raised right here, lamb, beef and pork from friends farms, are in peril. The thought of wasting all that wonderful meat makes me fret. Every year we plan to buy a generator to run crucial things like the well pump, furnace and the freezers for a few hours at a time, but we never do.

As Chris and I rattle around the house, staying close to the wood stove, unable to operate our lives normally, I read and knit, make notes for an upcoming article, feed the fire and gaze at the flames. I think about how glad I am to live in a time where most days heat and light and water are available at the turning of a dial, flick of a switch, lift of a faucet. I miss the sounds of the washing machine chugging, the dryer whirring, the whoosh of the furnace as it pumps warm air through the house. It seems eerily quiet. We watch the road for power company trucks that do not come and go to bed early, snuggled under handmade quilts and a fluffy feather duvet. 

Before dawn on Monday the bedroom light came on and Chris muttered a sleepy, "Yay." My hot shower felt extra good, and I rejoiced as I washed dishes, filled water tubs and listened to the normal sounds of my refrigerator motor kicking on and ice cubes thudding into the waiting tray. 

I'm moving "buy generator," up on the "to do" list. 

Tempest...

 The weather forecasters told us to expect heavy rain and winds with 40-60 mile an hour gusts. After the long summer draught, I was happy about impending rain, but wind is always worrisome. Trees fall, roads flood, damage happens. We got ready as best we could, filling containers with water in case we lost power, and stowing things that might blow away. All day yesterday the skies were dark, and rain came down intermittently. Dusk came early, the sun hidden behind heavy clouds. I did chores in the pouring rain, with mud squelching up around my ankles.  The animals knew it was going to be rough, the ducks even put themselves to bed in the chicken coop, which is sturdier than their hutch. 

During the evening I could hear rain pelting on the windows and the wind caused the dogs to bark in alarm more than once. I checked in on the goats and donkeys several times, peeking at them via the camera system Chris gave me. They were all bedded down in their cozy shed, munching on hay and safely protected from the weather. 

I looked forward to bedtime, because there is something fabulously cozy about going to sleep in a storm. This old house sits out in the open, unprotected by trees. The wind makes amazing sounds as it hits the walls, windows and eves; whistles, howls and even thready screams can be heard when the gusts are strong. We have a good roof, and this sturdy place has stood the test of over a hundred years hunkered in this spot. I feel secure as I snuggle down under the covers and listen to the show. I know that all my birds and beasts are safe and well fed, with dry bedding and snug shelter. I leave the bedside window open just a crack, so I can feel the occasional puff of rain-perfumed air on my face. The wind is a wild lullaby.  Through the night I am roused by the sounds outside, and I wonder if the electricity is still on. 

Dawn is pewter and the rain still drums on the glass. Again chores are accomplished in a slicker and tall boots. The ducks are overjoyed with all the pasture puddles, the chickens are less enthused. Though the thermometer is in the low 50's I keep a small fire going in the stove to dry the air a bit. Outside is a bluster, but we are warm and snug, watching the grey world through streaming windows.