It’s almost March…It’s almost warmish (almost)

Although the shortest of days have gone by and whatever nastiness of weather we have before us; the month of February passes.


March is near, and each day we ebb out a few more cherished moments of sunlight.

Minute by minute, the days lengthen out, almost imperceptible, even as the growth of a child. All at once the moment comes as if by epiphany; we notice we are out of doors in twilight for another quarter of a precious hour.


The air is still bitingly cold.

The sun shines strong enough to cause icicles to drip, that is hope.


My fingers ache to dig in the garden’s soil. To feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on my neck.

I think I will spend some time today sorting and gathering seeds saved, seeds bought, clay potting pots, and all of the thingamajigs, and whatchamacallits a gardening crazy girl could wish for.

I wonder how many seedlings will survive a Walker Hound 3 month old pup? Maybe I should hold off on that.


Be well,


To Begin Again…Let’s start from the very beginning. Winter

The sun is rising over our little home. It will be a day like most days around here. Not much changes from day to day; I take solace in that.


As the year progresses and seasons change a subtle shift is created in our lives and routines.

Before we even realize, the tides have turned. We are sitting on the far edge of winter~ a brutal, beautiful, cold, white winter.

Blasts of cold and snow temper our outdoor exploration driving us, in retreat, back to mugs of tea and steaming bowls of stew.

I don’t mind.

It’s cozy and comforting to sit, gazing out into the postcard that is my yard, pencil in hand, waiting, hoping for something to write or an idea to sketch.

My eyes wander out at the farm yard, llamas stepping gingerly into the billowy mounds of snow. Goats swaddled in their winter’s growth, content to linger beside the barn, soaking in the the late winter sun’s warming rays.


The chickens have found a course of fence long enough to hold the lot of them. Clever those chooks, as even with the stiff north wind, they bob and sway in unison never loosing their grip on their uncertain perch.

The dogs curled up at my feet, resting, waiting for me to stir, a signal of the afternoon’s work ahead. Richard, the Yorkie; settled onto the top of the over-stuffed chair safe from errant drafts.

I reluctantly move from this moment of reflection. I don layers of armor against the bone chilling winds.

It’s chore time.

There are mouths to feed and barns to freshen, An extra ration of grain fed to each in hopes of warding off the the biting cold.  Water buckets are filled, heaters checked  ( to keep the filled buckets from freezing), and hay is given freely.

As I close the gate, I turn back to be sure our youngest cria’s (Revie) warming jacket is securely fastened. It’s going to be a cold, bitter night.


My thoughts turn to warming my families bellies, a hearty vegetable barley soup with homemade biscuits should do the trick.

With the veggies chopped, sautéed, and the soup now simmering gently on the back burner; I find my seat by the window. The dogs follow suit.

I have a  precious hour to write…the sun is setting far too early for my liking.


The biscuits are in the oven, the coffee is brewing… Let’s eat.

Be well,