yuck

As Garrison Keillor will tell you, complaining about the weather is an inextricable right for anyone who can call Canada a neighbor. That said, I live in a place that has four seasons by choice. I generally enjoy all of them and I like each and every season to manifest itself at the apprpriate time of year for the proper duration. And in January, that means SNOW.

Though I don't generally seek out the weather forecasts--my orchard and garden would probably appreciate it if I paid closer attention--today's forecast was so dismal it's all anyone talked about all week. In fact, the forecast for today sounded so bad that I've been looking forward to a hot bath when I get home tonight for two full days. And for once, they were right. I woke up to rain and fog and...huh, warmth. Just as I peeled off my wool sweater and dug out my yellow rain slicker and headed into the barn for morning chores, there was one final gust and then calm. I looked and wondered and smiled. Though I'm still a bit bitter to have lost those new snowshoe trails I blazed in December, I'm worried about my perennials and and I'm trying to not get too hung up on the fact that I haven't been cross country skiing even once yet this year, I'll admit it IS awfully nice to do morning chores without frozen fingers and toes.

Along with the passing of the warm temps though, my appreciation has waned. The wind has been howling through the barn all afternoon, rattling doors and shaking windows. The calves were only mildly reluctant to be led in from the pasture, still 6 hours shy of their routine 3:30 return to the barn for dinner and the cows haven't ventured out all day--a true testament to the unappealing weather after Mattie demonstrated her skill in opening the barn doors by herself yesterday.