It is 67 degrees as another storm breaks over the farm this Christmas morning. Surely the inflatable plastic snowmen in a neighbor’s yard are mired in mud. Nothing like wind and rain to make holiday decorations look more sad and foolish.

We went to bed before midnight, so I don’t know if the animals in the barnyard spoke. But I do know that the ewes are uncomfortably pregnant. And one in particular may have lambed last night. That would be a nice addition for this day.

So I’ll pull on my festive Carharrt overalls and do the rounds. I’ll let the chickens out and check for eggs. When the barn door is opened for the sheep they will cluster around the opening and peer out. Rain again? And they will turn back to their soft bedding and lay back down. Caesar will splash through the muck and out into the open field. But he will turn back and look for the sheep. He likes the company.

The pigs will be burrowed down in the woods and the cattle in need of fresh hay. Plenty to do before I see my plate of blueberry pancakes. So I better get to it.

Have a Merry Christmas!

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