Physically every step is just more burdensome in the snow. Mentally the vast expanse of snow buried land and extremely few visitors shrinks ones world to a hermit like state.
Not knowing how the night’s hand has reworked the snow, each morning is a fresh trek into feeding sheep. Aside from the actual work of rolling a few bales of feed everyday, there might be half an hour of shoveling so that we can get to the sheep. Sometimes we abandon the Ranger and go on foot.
The sheep continue to do what sheep seem to do most of at this time of the year - eat and sleep. When they lie down to chew cud I doubt they contemplate that it’s been 85 days of snow beneath their bellies.
Tonight, it was no surprise that as I flipped through photos to generate writing ideas, the ones ripe with green color lured me in. They remind me that I will smell dirt and see green grass again soon.
Right now this bench is up to its seat in snow.
On our next warm day, I think I’ll sit there for a spell.
While I’m sitting perhaps I’ll un-wrinkle my thoughts about where conventional agriculture is going and how I can stay on my unconventional path.
I’ll hug my knees and ponder how it seems to me that I’m living a pretty ordinary life while recent emails from readers would suggest otherwise.
I’ll take a moment to anticipate the arrival of guests for our summer stock dog clinics and sheep camp. Guests who will invariably ask about the sheep, engage in working their dogs and feel a little bit of Nature’s glow while they’re here.
I’ll sit and pretend I hear grass growing.