It’s along about this time that winter’s intrigue, that is, beautiful snow, delightful crystals of ice, frosty windows, and flocked trees, begins to wear on the psyche, and thoughts of spring are more likely to be at the frontal lobe. Yes, it’s that time of year when the weatherman on the TV turns into an ogre discussing the next series of low pressure systems, when you just put on the second set of windshield wipers frustrates to the point of cursing (oh, my), and you are so tired of lugging in logs for the fireplace, that you bellow to the sky
Will It Ever End?
It’s been about nine weeks since the winter solstice, and that means we’re about five weeks, maybe four and a half if we pretend some, before the vernal equinox and blessed spring. Here at the old J Bar P, the mud is deep, but despite the temps below the freezing mark, grass is giving it a go. The chickens like the extra amount of light and are giving more eggs (we don’t artificially light their cottages). So, it might be time to just remember how nice it was when Winter was a positive word and influence on our lives.
Over the river and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way
To carry the sleigh,
Through the white and drifted snow.
Lydia Maria Child (1802-1880) Flowers for Children, "Thanksgiving Day," 1844-1846
Now, that didn’t hurt at all, did it. So, put another log on the fire, break out those worn out winter boots, and remember how much fun it was during those first few storms of the season, when the Austrian Pine stood tall and proud, draped in a foot of snow and icicles hung from the eves. We’ve been thinking bad thoughts about winter for a couple of weeks now. How about a frivolous thought about the season?
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl.
Because of a wonderful winter’s load of snow in the high country of the west, there will be weeks of skiing left, we’ll have water for our crops, soon we’ll have the fly rod in hand knowing those pesky trout are firm and fat in their cold water dens, and seed catalogs will fill mail drops by the ton.
Yes, Virginia, it’s still winter, but too, as was once said, this too shall pass.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
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