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Winter On My Farm
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.–Robert Frost
A lovely little poem. Although most of the time, I must confess, I feel more like ‘Greasy Joan’ keeling the pot:
WHEN icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-who;
Tu-whit, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.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,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-who;
Tu-whit, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.–William Shakespeare, Love’s Labour’s Lost
And then there are the four opening lines of Keats’ Eve of St. Agnes which evoke the English winters of my childhood with more immediacy than any other:
ST. AGNES’ Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold.
That’s winter, to me.
Sunset on the farm, February 2, 2021. As the farmers used to say in England when I was a child, “red sky at night, shepherd’s delight.” (That’s one of many old-wives tales that have a solid backing in “the science,” particularly when its wisdom is applied to the northern hemisphere, in which the weather generally travels from West to East):
This shepherd is quite delighted at the moment, as there are two new occupants of the barn and (so far at least) neither of them seems headed for the Pack ‘n Play in the house. You go, Sheep Moms!
(The problem that arises when, out of necessity, you bottle-feed the lambs and raise them in your living room** is that they never quite lose the sense of entitlement and privilege bestowed upon them, and they’re always trying to get back in):
Getting to the barn when I heard the lambs in there this morning was a bit of a challenge–there are steps somewhere under all this snow . . .
(Note well that this percipient shepherd, when the snow started three days ago, penned all the sheep up in the barn, ‘just in case.’ Sooner or later, a person realizes that 1) ewes (female sheep) are genetically programmed to have their lambs on the absolute worst day of the year, and that 2) they cannot conceive (see what I did there) of a better place to deliver said lambs than in the middle of the icy creek at the bottom of the field. Even better if the lamb gets stuck and Mom needs help completing the task. Delightful. It only takes a time or two of the back-breaking business of dragging a 150lb ewe in some distress several hundred feet up a steep hill on a tarpaulin in sub-freezing temperatures with snow or ice on the ground and falling from the sky, before one wises up.)
The road’s still a bit “iffy” in places. I’d probably make it up in the new car; never in my beloved Cube. Good thing I’m provisioned for the duration and there’s no need to go anywhere:
And here’s an odd little snow and ice formation which developed when the snow slid off the roof. I’ve never seen anything quite like it:
The dogs like nothing more than a traipse round the field. This is the sort of weather they were made for:
And “Chinggis,” the rooster has found his voice (I love that I have a chicken named Chinggis. Something of a family joke. I expect you had to be there to appreciate it. Or maybe not.) The story of how Chinggis came to live with me can be found here:
Thank God I’m a country girl.
I love this time of year.
Mostly.
**To those of you who think that I raise the orphaned or rejected lambs in a Pack ‘n Play in my living room out of a misplaced sense of anthropomorphic sentiment, I’ll just say that if you’d ever had to get up every two or three hours, night after night, get the bottles ready, put on all your winter gear, and traipse down into the barn in sub-freezing (and sometimes sub-zero Fahrenheit) temperatures, you’d seriously think about putting the little wretches darling creatures in your living room too.
A lot of those places that are closed need to be. And there a lot of “hunters” roaming out there who think a backstop is a piece of playground equipment.
True, but that does make the deer situation worse. My parents have 25 acres in what was totally rural 30 years ago, but is now surrounded by McMansion hellzones. There’s state land right across the street. Shotgun hunting was legal there in 1990. Not even bow hunting is legal there now, except in a few marked zones that shrink with each passing year. Sure enough, when hunting season does open up, the deer vacate those few spots.
It wouldn’t be sporting, and now there are simply too many nearby houses, but I could snipe deer all day long from what used to be my sister’s bedroom. It’s not uncommon to look out and see 10 at a time in broad daylight.
Wonderful post!! It warmed my heart to read about your new baby lambs, and what an entertaining way to learn the meaning of a new word like “percipient”! Reading your sheep story reminded me of a short story about the shepherd’s life, The Merino Sheep, written by a turn of the century (the one before this) Australian writer Banjo Paterson. It’s hilarious! https://americanliterature.com/author/banjo-paterson/short-story/the-merino-sheep
And to budgets.
I’ve been driving for just over half-a-century now, and had never had to turn in a claim to my insurance company (knocking on wood as I write this). Not long after Mr. She’s death last year, I traded in both the old cars (since I couldn’t see my way clear to driving both at once, and because one (the aforementioned beloved Cube) got terrific gas mileage and was nifty enough to park anywhere but was unreliable in the winter, and the other (a 2008 Kia Sportage) functioned well as a farm truck, and winter vehicle but whose gas mileage was abysmal and which was suffering terribly from repeated mouse incursions). Replaced them both with a nice 2020 Rogue Sport. (Good gas mileage and pep. Not thrilled with the rear visibility, which is about the only thing I don’t really like about it.)
Anyhoo, I’d had it about three months when I “glanced off” a deer on my way back from Baltimore one October night. The beast ran away. I inspected the damage. It was incredibly minor.
By the time I got through with the repairs, the bills submitted to the insurance company were in the $5000 range.
Had it happened to either the Cube or the Sportage, I’d not have bothered to follow up at all. It wasn’t hazardous, didn’t affect my driving, and–oh well–if I had to get a hammer and a lever to get the hood up, it wouldn’t be the first time.
(I think I’ve told the story before here about the old Ford Zephyr of my childhood, in which I’d proudly sit on the front (bench) seat next to Dad, with my plastic steering wheel suctioned to the dashboard, beeping the red “horn” button in the center and twisting the wheel like mad, hardly able to breathe because of the thick rope firmly tied across our fronts, from one door to the other, just to prevent them both from falling off in the road…)
Thanks. I will have a look at that. Reminds me of my determination, not long after we moved out here, to form the NFL All-Star Ovine Team. Including at quarterback, of course, Western Pennsylvania’s own Danny Merino. Leicester Hayes also figured prominently, as did Tony Dorset (whose name at the time had the accent on the first SYLable). Other members included Milton Romney(Chicago Bears) and Tamerlane Lincoln (former offensive tackle for the team known around here for years as the “Rakeland Ordures.” I’m from Pittsburgh. What can I say?)
Mr. She often used to say that the proudest achievements in his life, other than his children, were teaching me to drink American whiskey, and watch American football.
I do my best.
My aunt got a twelve-point buck with a ’72 Nova. It made my uncle cry.
“Most expensive venison on the planet” he said.
Yeah, well what happens to your little farm in the winter when, fifty years from now, Global Warming turns Pennsylvania winters a full one degree warmer? Tell me that, She. You probably won’t be around, but the descendants of those precious little sheep of yours are going to be so warm that in January they’ll be sitting in your ponds as they try to cool off.
How many tags per car?
The ODNR doesn’t have a bag or season limit on bumpers. If you have a clean kill, it’s yours, no questions asked.
The state police may ask if you want to donate the venison to the hungry. I’ve got no problem with doing that.
I think a lot of folks are so steamed at the damage to their cars, they’re not concerned about what happens to the deer. A 200 pound deer can really do a number on a car.
Here’s the view from my office desk, day and night. The deer like the extra (dropped) bird seed.
I now put thick sheathing on all my trees – I hate how the deer destroy them.
And they know just the place!
The lamb had been wandering around the rim, doing a Nadia Comăneci (I was ready to give her a perfect 10), and I was getting out my phone when the inevitable happened. I was just a second or two too late (file linked from my blog, please let me know if you can see it):
Lamb in Trough
Yes. I planted a little weeping willow a few years ago, thinking that it was in a safe area, and encircling it with a 4′ high wire barrier just in case. They pushed it out the way and got to the tree, stripping a long section of the bark away. I painted it with that gooey “tree wound” stuff, and wrapped it with tree bandage (yes, there is such), and it survived and eventually the trunk grew around and encased the scar. It’s doing great.
I’ve become fairly knowledgeable, just as a matter of self-defense, when it comes to deer-resistant plants in the garden. I don’t think there’s such a thing as deer-proof.
I tried sprays (temporary), lights (useless), thin netting (flimsy and degrades). But the strong bark protectors really do seem to work. Not as cheap as wire mesh, but much faster to apply. I have many willows, and the deer love stripping the bark.
This is the solution that I find has worked well.
Wow mama! I’d love to see the size of the rest of the manger scene under the pretty tree! The grown sheep trying to get back in after being bottle fed is a good analogy for some Millennials…. Beautiful pictures – especially now that I live in Florida (grew up in PA). I can ooh and aah and stay warm. You could certainly use a snowmobile with a caboose for those trying to giving birth in tricky places. I love the rooster – he is gorgeous – the colors! Thank you for such an uplifting post and Please continue to share your farm with us – can’t wait to see what Springtime brings!
wonder if its magnetic?
How absolutely wonderful She! You are blessed. Now I want to live on a farm. Though in a warmer climate. LOL. Thank you for sharing.
Mud. It brings mud.