January 2018

February 17, 2018

I’ve now lived in the South for longer than I’ve lived anywhere else. I think this fact alone should be enough to make me now officially Southern. My first official assertion as such being, my Southern constitution is just not meant for this winter weather nonsense.

January was ridiculous. More ridiculous than your average January, which is pretty ridiculous.Hats off to Northern farmers (except I’m still refusing to actually remove my hat and Amin has taken to wearing two toboggans at time), because even though I grew up on a farm way up in the North, I’m still baffled as to HOW that actually works.

Somehow, I don’t think I actually grasped the bigger picture peering through the window at my Grandfather shoveling the house out from under a mountain of snow. I do blame him for not properly preparing me for running a frozen farm. In retrospect, I think I just stayed tucked warm inside, venturing out only long enough to build my snowman, slide down our giant hill at Olympic speed, and bust my bottom a decent number of times doing my best Kristi Yamaguchi / Katarina Witt impression across the pond.  This, I’m sorry to say, is not an effective “how to” for winter animal husbandry. I called my grandmother. The water at the barn is frozen again, I told her. We have to lug buckets of water from the house to fill their heated buckets, I lamented. And she laughed the laugh she’s been waiting so many years to laugh. Ok, I’ll suck it up buttercup, I guess life isn’t really that hard.

In our case, though, the buttercups are daffodils, and I have a field full. With such disdain for the winter weather, it’s peculiar how many hours I’ve been devoting lately to chopping down and digging up the little yellow heralds of Spring. Well aware that I’m not a traditional flowers and chocolates type, my wonderful husband gifted me instead with a new fence. The pony and I were greatly pleased, but he was positively delighted when my new pasture ground gave way to hundreds of green sprouting daffodils.  It was as if he’d not only provided me with pasture, but hours of entertainment as well. Pasture plant notes: most all bulbs and ornamentals are poisonous to livestock. True, a well fed critter is generally smart enough to avoid the yucky stuff. I’m not willing to put enough stock in that statement to bet my pony’s wellbeing on it. So off I go, day after day, pruning shears and hand hoe in my bucket and destruction on my mind, while Amin enjoys the hours of peace and solitude that the simple statement “your flowers are growing” can suddenly bring him.