January

My husband left the weather forecast on the computer, just to be sure I saw it first thing when I walked into the kitchen... the luxury of a laptop. Instead I force my eyes away from the screen as I shut it. Denial can be such a beautiful thing.

I step out into the darkness.

The morning feels crisp, but it's just cold, not COLD. The door behind me closes and instantly its window fogs over. I watch for a moment while my bundled kid disappears from my view even more as he breathes on the glass. That distant growing humming squealing squeaking of the school bus echos off the barn. He's ready and waiting. I speed through a list in my head, and yes, I do believe we remembered everything today. I turn and head towards the barn.

I've got garden dirt all over my hands in January. It makes me smile. I'm sorting through these living treasures in my warm house. The paper grocery bag crinkles as I roll them around, choosing. My potatoes have sprouted, but they're still usable. I make my selection, and then have mud running over my hands as I rinse them off in the sink.

Next summer's garden is on my mind.

Two and a half bulbs of garlic remain in a lunch-sized paper bag. Onions too, some mine, some from a neighbor, some trying to grow. Carrots from a pink plastic bag that was tucked into the least accessible corner of my fridge last fall. Broth from my freezer, from my crock-pot, from my own chicken, from my hand. Soup that fills my soul. A higher level of satisfaction than simply cutting, chopping, stirring the pot. Providing.

The forecast mocks me from across the room. I want to check my email, and I can't continue this blissful ignorance. My eyes go straight to our low for tonight. It's that number.

I groan.

It's that big fat curvy number that even the hardiest of us prairie dwellers must admit is... well, sort of cold. It's that number where I weigh the risk of someone getting his tail feathers in a heat lamp and burning the whole barn down, versus the benefit that little bit of heat might give.

I had such hope we wouldn't go there this winter.

-20F

And the wind. There it is, an Extreme Cold Warning.



I think I have a garden to plan.

Frozen farm

It was two degrees (above zero F) when I was out a few hours ago to take these, and now we're already up to nine degrees. While it's still cold, that's a whole lot warmer than it was yesterday, and the day before, and the day before.

The You Capture challenge this week is "cold". Cold is all relative here.

Do I show you my best photo first or my worst one? Maybe chronological order?

First I wandered out to the end of the sidewalk road. What you can't see is how full of snow the ditches are.


1/5000 f/2.8 ISO 50

It's only the end because they don't plow past our place in the winter.

Then I wandered back over to our shop.

Cold door. Cold handle. Cold shadow.


1/2000 f/2.8 ISO 50

A little cold sun flare.


1/640 f/32 ISO 3200

I was using my big lens. Twenty three elements makes for a lot of sun flare (and weight too).

Then I heard some awful racket in the barn and headed back that way.

I guess she just laid an egg and the world needed to know.


1/800 f/2.8 ISO 800

See the fog from her breath? Cold. And I didn't sharpen that photo at all, just sayin'. The big lens kicks chicken butt once again.

If you're curious, I braved -24F to take pics of the moon that I posted HERE. Now that was cold.

Ripe tomatoes

When it looks like this outside, that's when I know. It's that time of year. That beautiful time of year when my tomatoes have finally ripened.


{home sweet home}

Not all of them, though. Most of the Long Keepers will hang around in our basement until February. It's my revenge on a frigid prairie winter. One of those things that doesn't matter too much, but it makes me feel better anyway.

I did what I had to do. I picked them green.

When we lived 120 miles north of here, I grew the most beautiful red tomatoes every year. But now, practically in a whole gardening sub-zone warmer, I can hardly grow more than a handful of red tomatoes. But really, I've come to expect nothing less from my mysterious sunken swamp of a garden. It holds many secrets. How, exactly, to grow red tomatoes is one of them.

So I picked buckets and baskets and bags of green tomatoes.

But now!



Some of these are an heirloom variety Large Red Cherry Tomatoes, and some are my precious Principe Borghese, the tomato that lives to be dried. Once again, I was really impressed with myself, because after they came into the house I had no idea which was which. Yay me.

One basket went to the basement and one got stuck in the entryway.

Our sneaky little Bean grabbed the best one she could find and squished it into my shoe.



When you're in a really big hurry to get out of the house, it's fabulous to stick your socked foot into squishy wet seedy tomato pulp.

Fabulous.



Anyway, I did what every good gardener would do. I dumped them all together (but not the squished shoe tomato).


{I was working with some horrific light here, so give me a break}

Truly, no photograph can do these gorgeous little gems justice. You'll just have to trust me.



And they really do turn blazing bright red while they dry.

Icy sunrise

This morning, as I was driving with my kiddos, I suddenly wished I had my gun, loaded and ready to go.

Truly, it is not often that I am overwhelmed with gun-toting desire.

No, the kids were behaving. And anyway, I only shoot them with the camera.

I was at a stop sign in the middle of nowhere. As required, I looked to my right and to my left. Sometimes, even in the middle of nowhere, there is traffic. But then I looked to my right again, because something other than a vehicle was coming down the road, and it took a moment to register in my brain.

A skunk! Literally running down the road towards us.

There is so much snow in the ditches around here, when wildlife travels, it now often uses the same roads we do. I've seen the deer do it. And the pheasants too, although they will take to the wing when absolutely necessary.

But a skunk? Barreling down a county highway in broad daylight?

I wanted to shoot it.

I've done it before.

But alas, I had no gun. So we sat there and watched that skunk come bouncing down the road. Not only could we see it, we could also smell it.

I think I've mentioned before how easily entertained we are?

Now it's your turn to be entertained, however briefly. Here's some more ice. An icy sunrise, to be precise.




You can thank me by shooting any skunks which may happen to cross your path. But be warned, make certain you know the exact location of that skunk before you jump off your front step with a loaded weapon.

And once again, don't ask me how I know.

But do tell me which photo you like the best of those two.

Ice

We have lots of ice.

Winter is starting to feel like prison. Except that I really have no idea what prison is like.

I feel trapped.


But there is still beauty.

And I am hopeful.

Un-decorating the driveway

Upon arriving at our humble home, you will be greeted by our big dog.

She may not think you're cool.

I love her.

Just this winter, she has decided that she doesn't like to do her business in the snow. I have no idea why the snow is so different this year.

It means you will also be greeted by a row of big frozen turds lining our driveway.


They're fairly well spaced, and the row is almost straight.

Rather impressive!

But that lovely photo is deceiving. They're not just frozen turds. Oh no! They are frozen turds in waiting. Waiting patiently in line.

I took that photo earlier this week. Guess what? This morning their destiny arrived. They wait no longer!

Exactly how far do you think a snow blower can throw a frozen turd?

What about a whole row of them?

One by one they met their glorious destiny, and flew thirty feet through the air!

Frosting

It was beautifully warm yesterday, for mid-January. We made it above freezing, and the sun was shining.

The boys played in the deep snow, while the dog found all that snow useful and dug like a badger.

The kids thought it was hilarious.

The chickens actually came down the path from the barn, scratched around and otherwise generally caused mischief. It was the probably the first time in a month that I have seen them wander away from the barn.

When I locked the chickens up late in the evening, the air was crisp and cold again.

Before I went to bed I glanced out the window.

There was a thick fog swirling past. I could see it in the glow our yard light casts on the barn. Doesn't fog usually just sit? Well, this stuff was on the move. All mysterious and good for a horror movie kind of fog.

I smiled because I knew exactly what it meant.

It meant we would wake up to a sparkling magical world, where the frost is as thick as the fog had been.


My oldest boy said, "Look Mommy, it snowed!".

I told him that even though it looked like snow, it wasn't. He already knew that. He was leading me right into a joke.

He giggled, "I want to eat that frosting!"


It was beautiful.


Maybe we should have tasted it.

You Capture - Winter

I love these winter night photos, because they make it look as cold out as it really was. Hot cocoa with lots of marshmallows! The windchilll was -17F.


Some people here like to joke that we live in the frozen tundra. But the truth is, there are moments when it is no joke.




Does anyone know what is causing the vertical lines in the sky on the last one?

The coldest days

It is a beautiful sunny day. At least it appears that way looking out the window. We've already warmed up from our bitter cold last night and right now as I type, it's a lovely -22F outside. Don't ask me what the windchill is, I don't even want to know.

I think I should have titled my blog, "Eggs in My Pocket". If you have followed me from the beginning, you know this has been an ongoing issue.

It happened again.

I just went out to the barn, but first I had to peel my frozen boots off the entryway floor. Then, I found an egg in my coat pocket. I put it there last night when I put the chickens to bed. This one was actually cracked, but the good news is it was NOT fully smashed, so my pocket is fine.

Chances are good that I have not learned my lesson. Only time will tell.

The other good news is the barn was still there, so Fritzy did indeed manage to keep his gorgeous tail feathers out of the heat lamp.


But look at his poor freezer burned frostbit comb.


Last night was only the second time (other than when the birds were babies) that I have put heat on in the coop. It was a balmy -12 in there, and the birds were happy and singing in the red glow of the heat lamp.




Several of the hens are still wearing their fleece jackets. If you missed that story, you really missed out! Read about it by clicking here.


One of the hens was sitting on four eggs (which I put in my pocket, of course), and another was getting settled into the nest, so I expect it will be another five-egg-day. Five eggs a day from ten hens is really very good, especially when it's this dang cold.

I'll thank them with some warm oatmeal when I go back out.

I have to go back out, to (hopefully) gather that last freshly laid egg before it freezes; and because the heated dog bowl was frozen. Frozen solid. I kicked it hard just to be sure, and it hurt my foot. Yes, it was still plugged in.

Wondering what the problem was?

There is such a good power line running to the barn, if I plug heat in for the birds, there simply isn't enough juice left to keep the dog bowl thawed when it is this cold. Nice.

Marshall did not appreciate me pulling the ice out of his sensitive cat whiskers. The dog, on the other hand, did not care.

What an odd couple they are.

Right now, the dog and cat are warm enough, snuggled together deep in some hay, the moisture in their breath freezing to their whiskers again.

The chickens, I am sure, are still singing.


(The pictures in this post are grainy and out of focus because I wanted to capture that red glow the heat lamp was casting in the coop)

Winter dreaming

When the snow is deep and the days are cold and dreary, the garden porn starts arriving in my mailbox. Every year, it never fails.

Oh, the colors! Oh, the varieties!


Also, without fail, every year I dream while my garden sleeps through our long winter. I dream of a perfect garden, without weeds or pests. I dream of earthworms and ladybugs. I dream of wet toes as I walk through the dewy grass in the morning, and bowls full of green peas and sweet, juicy raspberries.


I want to order one of everything in those catalogs, because this year, my garden will be perfect.

Heating the chicken

It's cold out tonight, really cold.

This egg was not out there too horribly long. But obviously it was long enough.


For some reason I had -20 in my head as the point at which I would put heat on in the coop. The weatherdudes say we're already at -25, and think we're headed to somewhere near -30 tonight. I was just out there, and it is almost -15 in the coop. So that is it, time for heat!

My husband helped me nail a heat lamp up with some wire staples, and it is now hanging very securely over the roost. My goal here is to NOT burn the barn down.

Once that was done I took my gloves off and started rubbing petroleum jelly into my two rooster's combs and wattles. It's supposed to help prevent freezer burn frostbite. I still had the hens to do, but after just those few minutes of bare skin exposed I could hardly move my fingers.

I ran back to the house.

My long underwear were missing, because I had to empty my bedroom closet.

This is the reason why.


Nice, don't you think?

A huge gash in the sewer pipe, which was letting a whole lot of very stinky air right into the wall between the bathroom and my bedroom closet... but usually only when I did laundry. But even that is often enough to be a real problem. Finally I had gotten everything emptied out of the closet so my husband could attack the wall. I'm just thrilled the problem was so obvious. It's now temporarily patched up with a bunch of caulking. Still stinky, but not as bad as it was before.

Like I said, my closet is empty... and my clothes (and honestly I really don't have much after being at home with these kiddos for almost five years) are now in three random locations around the house.

So I searched for awhile and eventually found them, the long Johns, and also grabbed my ski pants too. I now had three layers on my legs. My husband found me a pair of disposable nitrile gloves (like exam gloves).

Back out the door and to the barn, which at the moment is colder than my freezer, again.

I peeked in the coop door, and guess what? Not a single freezing frostbit bird of mine was anywhere even slightly near the heat lamp! Birdbrains!

Did you know that a tube of petroleum jelly gets awfully stiff at fifteen degrees below zero? Crazy weird that stuff is, it actually freezes at 100 to 113 degrees Fahrenheit. Rubber bands get really, really interesting at -80 Celsius, but that doesn't have anything even slightly to do with my farm, where I tend to measure temperature in Fahrenheit degrees.

Anyway... what a difference that thin layer of nitrile made on my hands. Too bad I couldn't coat the chickens combs and wattles with nitrile. But even if I could, they would probably just eat it. Birdbrains.

After greatly disturbing each hen to give it a petroleum jelly luxury frozen prairie spa treatment, I placed it on the roost right under the heat. It was amazing! They transformed from the grumpy, hunched up balls of poofed out feathers that they are in very cold weather. They stretched out their necks and looked all around, preened a few feathers, stretched their legs out one at a time, and then settled in.

By the time I was done I had a roost full of hens snuggled in side by side. The lucky ones were right below the heat lamp. Ah, so much better.

I ran back to the house again, hoping I don't wake up tonight to a barn bonfire and blackened chicken. Wish us luck.

Changes

Winter cold is here, and we've been getting settled into some changes.

The kids can't play outside much at all now. The dog, cat and chickens are cold, really cold, you can just tell. The cat reminds me of a grumpy old man. The corn stove fills the house with a constant hmmmmmmmmm... and sends us on an evening ritual of fetching pails of corn from the barn. The fancy car starts, but the old green one refuses.

I can accept that the garden is asleep, and that the car needs to be warmed up before we leave. I don't mind pouring dusty buckets of corn into the stove, so we can avoid using the furnace. I happily go to the coop several times a day, to gather the eggs before they have a chance to freeze. I bundle the kids before we leave the house, even if it takes 20 minutes by the time everyone has been dressed, undressed to go potty, and dressed back up again.

I even have a pile of winter squash in the middle of the kitchen, because I was afraid they would freeze on the basement stairs.

But I also realize now, that I must admit temporary defeat in regard to one thing that I love dearly.


Yeah I know, I'm weird. I love my clothesline. It makes me happy.

A drying rack in front of the corn burner's hot blast of air (yes, in my living room) just doesn't satisfy like the clothesline. Don't get me wrong, I like my clothes drying rack, but I love my clothesline.