Bull Brook Keep
January 26, 2023
The glare off the pastures can send you into snow-blindness in just seconds. The entire farm is nothing but rolling white and blue shadows. It’s still. Snow crystals glitter. It’s a glorious view from this side of the living room windows. The bird feeders hang sad, nearly empty, nagging me to pull on hat, boots and coat, and do the right thing. In a bit.
Each dog has claimed a sunny patch and will remain inert for as long as the sun warms his coat. The only thing that’ll bring their heads up is the rustle of the plastic bag holding the raisin rye bread.
It’s 14 degrees, which means we’re already on the downward slope from today’s projected high of 19. My phone’s weather app forecasts a high of just 2 degrees in a few days; and that after a night crawling to -11. Grrr.
Learning how to dress for the winters of the Upper Midwest was a life-changing lesson when I moved from New York City to the shores of Lake Superior. I was in my early 20s and landed in Duluth with one heavy wool coat. I loved that coat, but quickly discovered it would not protect me from snows off the lake, or the icy winds that blasted down the hills. One of the first things I did was find a local Army surplus store and buy a huge parka. It was bright orange, had a massive fur-trimmed hood, and I didn’t care that I looked like a highway worker. I felt invincible as crossed open fields, climbed into ore carriers, and visited local leaders to get interviews and film for KDAL-TV’s evening news shows. I came to appreciate why my newsroom friends had several coats and jackets to deal with the wide range of temperatures thrown at us throughout the year.
Siggy loves the snow
I left the newsroom decades ago, and I don’t know what happened to that parka. However, warm coats remain a priority as I tend to our small cattle herd. The deep cold freezes the brook. This year, episodes of rain, sleet, drizzle and fog are building layers of ice over dense layers of snow, over rock-hard sheets of ice on every field and road surface. Cars slip and skid. I wear cleats over my boots just to get to the mailbox. It’s awesome, and unforgiving.
But right this minute, I’m grateful for its beauty, the warmth of my home, and for the bright shafts of sunlight traveling across the floor. Time for another cup of chai tea.
