“Winter is beginning to lose its grip.” What clueless chump wrote that bit of wisdom last Sunday? After penning those wishful words, I’ve watched our world here in East Tennessee fall into the deep freeze.
Our average high at this time of year is 53 degrees, with a low of 31. That comfortable range is one of the reasons living in Tennessee is such a joy. Each of the four seasons has a clear character, none too extreme, and about the time we tire of one, the next arrives. There are, of course, on occasional years, the extremely cold winter or the miserably hot summer. This is clearly one of the former.
Last Saturday we had a teaser of above average temps, which prompted the above bit of optimism. That was followed by a very cold week here on the farm. Yesterday, we had a brief respite, as the mercury climbed into the middle 40s. We spent Valentine’s Day thawing hoses and refilling stock tanks; we set posts in concrete and drove T-posts and stretched woven wire on the new horse paddock.
While we worked to complete this project, Bonnie, our newest work horse, eyed us from a neighboring corral. Pregnant ewes stuck their noses through the gate to conduct their smell test on her. Roosters chased hens under her feet, and Delores moseyed about her paddock next to the corral with piglets in tow—new experiences all for a horse that had spent her days working on a dairy in Minnesota.
We completed the back fence on the new paddock around noon. Cindy began setting up the propane burner and chicken-plucker for our friend Sara. She had called earlier in the morning with a surfeit of male birds vying to be cock o’ the roost. Sumptuous dishes like coq au vin and dumplings lay ahead, but first the killing, plucking, and cleaning of eight bloodied and bruised roosters.
While Cindy helped with the butchering, I sneaked off to buy a late Valentine’s card to present during our evening dinner (Cindy having done the same earlier in the morning). By mid-afternoon we had settled down in the house, she for a nap and I to finish a mystery by Martin Walker. Coffee at four and then we headed out for a couple of hours of chores.
We fixed together a dinner of roast leg of lamb, mashed potatoes and “squishy greens,” and cheesecake for dessert and turned in early for a well-deserved rest.
This morning the low registered 13, with a projected high later of 29. Four to seven inches of snow are in the forecast for this evening and tomorrow and a low of minus 3 for Wednesday night. The cattle need to be moved to a late winter pasture, ice will be broken on troughs, and there is a bit of fencing I need to repair in the back forty. The sheep are bawling for hay—three ewes were due to lamb last night. I hear Delores snorting for feed. It is time to call the dogs and do the chores.
With the week ahead calling for another significantly cold week, I wonder if my ancestors had some ritual, besides sipping whisky, to bring on the warmth of an early spring. God knows I’m ready for it. At least our farm isn’t in Boston.
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Reading this weekend: The Crowded Grave by Martin Walker, Our Only World by Wendell Berry and A Guide to the Good Life: the ancient art of stoic joy by William Irvine.
Love Martin Walker. Just wish he were more prolific.
Jean,
He was a new one for me. A friend had suggested his work. I enjoyed it so I’ll be searching out more. Any others you can suggest that straddle the food and good mystery divide?
My best to you and Paul,
Brian
Hunkerin’ down with a still-warm loaf of bread and a bacon-and-kale quiche. We’re ready for the snow and ice.
Great title for the week — sometimes it helps to know that things could be worse! Downtown Atlanta is such a heat sink that its last frost date can be 3-4 weeks sooner than in Kennesaw, and hearing about all the blooming flowers and seed-planting activity from just 20 or so miles away can be hard. This week, instead of looking south toward Atlanta, I’ll think about poor, snowy Boston and frozen (minus 3!) East Tennessee. Hope you and Cindy keep safely warm! -Amy
Thanks! You do the same down in Kennesaw.
Many thanks kind Sir and Madame… have traveled for a conference and found myself needing a change of gears. Your newest blog post filled the hole. Glad to hear Doris is doing well – have her sons gotten big enough for their date with the knife (to make barrows I mean… not a final date)?
Bonnie looks to be POA, and I’m guessing comes in about 13 hands?? We had a POA gelding we called Spot. Not too creative, but it seemed to work for all hands. He actually thought he was just another Holstein steer – which could be forgiven if you allowed for the vast difference in head architecture.
A brutal blow of harsh winter will make the coming Spring even more welcome – and mnore appreciated once it finally arrives. As they sometimes say in the Great North (at least we understand that Red Green says this: hang in there, and keep your stick on the ice!)
Oh, Brian… any reaction to something called ‘Gulliver’s Pulse’? Will admit its a bit obtuse, but that just the way I am….
Clem,
No, Bonnie is a Spotted Draft and about 15.1 hands. The picture is a bit deceptive as to her size. We are still getting used to her. And, poor girl, she arrived at the worst time with the polar plunge.
Gulliver’s Pulse as a blog title? I like it, signifies a bit of an adventurer.
Enjoy your conference, I hope it is somewhere warm.
Brian
Yes, a blog title… to the FAO soybean is an oil seed and not a pulse – but what do they know?? Sunflower and peanut – yes, but soy should be a pulse.
Bonnie IS a big girl! Wow. We’re hoping she doesn’t spook easily then.
The conference was in St Louis. They had snow and bitter cold as well. Well – at least I didn’t get spoiled being somewhere nice and warm 🙂
If I’ve done this correctly my new blog should be linked to my name here on this reply. It is pretty sparse – but I think its working. If you have trouble getting to sleep tonight, have a look.