Things are moving a mile a minute around here.
I’m a long distance runner and the pace doesn’t bother me too much
but let me tell you, I’ve been doing my best to pull on the reins and sit deep in the saddle lately. There are so many beautiful things about the early winter months and I don’t want to miss any of the details! November is gone but I’ve been so busy meeting December that I’ve hardly noticed.
I really believe there must be magic in everything;
I find myself spellbound so often.
This morning I popped outside to give the hens some fresh hot water, spinach leaves and to collect eggs. The ladies are finally slowing down with their laying and I’ve only picked two eggs over the past couple of days. It makes me feel a bit melancholy. One of my great joys, here at The Gables, is collecting ingredients for my meals, by hand, from my property. Eggs are the only thing I can glean lately and to see the the hens slowly turning in for the winter makes me feel a bit glum.
However, let us remember, to everything there is a season:
a time to collect eggs and a time to buy a carton of eggs at the local Co-Op.
This week, for the first time in months, I ate a store bought tomato.
It was tremendously disappointing.
I’m already greedy for lycopene that bursts with flavor. How will I manage the suffering until summer arrives again?!!!
But that’s the thing about living in a climate that boasts four strongly unique seasons, I always know that the next season will come and I find myself living blissfully and fully no matter if it’s winter, spring, summer or fall. I love the season I’m in, miss the season I was in previously and look forward to the season coming.
***
My walks lately have taken me up on top of the West Bench where the snow has been sculpted into deep, sinuous drifts between the sage, juniper and tall grasses. Those walks have been hard won for me and especially so for the wee Penelope. I continuously fall through the drifts which are as deep as my mid-thighs at times. Penelope follows in my footprints, leaping in and out of the holes I leave behind in the pristine winterscape. We both gasp for breath at times as we fight our way through. The sections of trail that have been scrubbed clean by the wind come as welcome breaks from the tough going.
Occasionally, I fall down into an invisible hole or dip in the ground beneath the snow and am jarred when my foot finally connects with terra firma. It’s not nice walking. That’s for sure. But it makes my cheeks ruddy, forces my lungs to push and pull air rapidly and it gives me a new appreciation for the animals that are out there, hunkered down in the coulees and drainage ravines on the sides of the Rocky Mountains. They paw through the snow to find their fodder, and are eventually drawn deeper into the low country in order to successfully forage. I imagine them walking through these snow drifts, on four matchstick legs, heaving their quadruped weight through the season, step by step: winterthick fur pushed and pulled by the down valley drafts.
I’ve been on the backs of horses as they push through snow like this. I know it’s hard work, I’ve felt the effort of a horse with every silent hoof strike, lift and pull of legs through white, the slow movement of my hips absorbing a gait, their animal warmth beneath my legs and the two of us, melded together and acting as a conduit for winter to pass through. We snort our breath at the sun in tall white columns. Beneath four hooves there’s the collected snowfall, there’s that residual build up of flake upon flake until we find ourselves wading through the thickness of solid state water; we press on even when our bodies crave the fuzziness of sleep. We’re blinded by the horizon gleaming in every direction beneath the face of the sun.
Now I’m just writing.
Free rein on my fingertips as I sit here and type.
I guess I just feel like talking with you.
Two days ago, while walking, I was pushing through the snow when the tip of a snow cloud pushed up and over the peaks on the West side of town. The cloud was a few miles away, clinging to the mountain tops and shrouding Kinport Peak in a white lace grace seasonal veil. Though the clouds were relatively distant, the wind grew stronger and pushed large snowflakes down to where I walked. The sun was bright in blue heavens. The sky was full of diamonds. I felt an alleluia rise in my throat.
The older blanket of white on the ground caught the new flakes lightly and held them carefully on the surface of things. There was a quiet tension there between the old and the new. An inability to blend: snow on snow acting like oil on water. I dropped to my knees to further observe perfect crystalline structure in bright sunlight and whipping wind. Penelope whined beside me, deep in the snow, anxious to move, anxious to build body heat. A hawk passed over, racing against shadow and wind. I squinted as I looked West. Stood. And kept walking.
***
I suppose this is all to say I’m kind of busy over here.
December has come to call and I don’t want to miss a moment of it.
***
I suppose this is all to say I’m kind of busy over here.
December has come to call and I don’t want to miss a moment of it.
xx
Plume
PS
PS
There are new things coming…
i miss you. period.
Dear Tomatoe-less in Idaho,
Your sneaky blonde faux-bob makes me swoon with seeing you as a 20s lady. I would give my own eggs (no. bad analogy) to be there for your breakfasts. I am also continually surprised anew at the gorgeosity, depth, and rich color of your photographs.
Love,
Aching neck in (my own) office.
December has come…a good sigh….my friend just gave me a good advice= think everyday is your birthday and every night a banquet…and so I am very pleased.
Very pleased that you are immersed in snow, that the hens get to rest their bodies, and sorry about the lycopene! See you around Miss! xo
I heart your ramblings on the topics of your heart! Its like reading mini short stories from a land not so far away, the details of rosy cheeks and thigh high snow drifts make me feel like I know how that cold feels…even though im in the perpetual summer of Hawaii! I have to admit though that after living here for three years now, I'm having a heavy heart for a bit of winter! Thanks for sharing your wintery tales with us!
"But that's the thing about living in a climate that boasts four strongly unique seasons, I always know that the next season will come and I find myself living blissfully and fully no matter if it's winter, spring, summer or fall. I love the season I'm in, miss the season I was in previously and look forward to the season coming."
amen. me too. yahoo!
lovely post…xo
I love YOU
…you take me on such lovely, long distance walks…through the canyons of your soul…don't stop ever…
don't
ever
stop.
xOxO
Ms. Plumeeeeeeee, Plume, Plume…
Gorgeous photo of your gloved hand holding eggs. Just Wow!
I am completely melancholy for hens despite never having had any myself.
However, my Grandmother had a rooster and hens in the city of Vancouver until they were banned from city life.
I still miss that particular hen fragrance in the air!!!! One day… one day.
I love every hen photo you take. Eggs included.
Very beautifully written and wonderful story of walks deep in snow country.
Such visual writing that I could imagine being there…
Thank you. xo
Ms. Plumeeeeeeee, Plume, Plume…
Gorgeous photo of your gloved hand holding eggs. Just Wow!
I am completely melancholy for hens despite never having had any myself.
However, my Grandmother had a rooster and hens in the city of Vancouver until they were banned from city life.
I still miss that particular hen fragrance in the air!!!! One day… one day.
I love every hen photo you take. Eggs included.
Very beautifully written and wonderful story of walks deep in snow country.
Such visual writing that I could imagine being there…
Thank you. xo
Ms. Plumeeeeeeee, Plume, Plume…
Gorgeous photo of your gloved hand holding eggs. Just Wow!
I am completely melancholy for hens despite never having had any myself.
However, my Grandmother had a rooster and hens in the city of Vancouver until they were banned from city life.
I still miss that particular hen fragrance in the air!!!! One day… one day.
I love every hen photo you take. Eggs included.
Very beautifully written and wonderful story of walks deep in snow country.
Such visual writing that I could imagine being there…
Thank you. xo
Both of those are beauties – but don't quite match the beauty of your words about winter. One of my favorite seasons – not here, mind you. North Carolina winters are just drab. And I am mostly alone in my lack of appreciation for "mild."
Drop me a line when the UPS man comes. I dare say he won't be wearing shorts.
all so utterly magnificent.
I've been swept away to Idaho…
by the grace of imagination!
as always, so beautifully written.
much love,
-lulu
greetings, j-feather plume.
sounds as if your bench snow is as deep as my coyote hill snow. snowshoes allow me to walk with minimal punching-through and lay a wider "hole" for mister ziggy selkie dachshund to bound in-and-out of.
i too dream of what passed and look to what is ahead, but the here and now, although COLD, reminds me to stay ever-present with some gratitude. which is difficult to come by. sometimes.
the layering of all the clothes is accented by the layering of favourite jewels. dressed to the nines and with sorels and snowshoes and thick wool toque.
much love to you….
I love your writing style dear sister! The imagery from your alleluia mountain soul spot is just beautiful and uplifting! God's creation is magnificent!
Lots of love ~
Forget Etsy. You need to write a book, stat! Something a la Annie Dillard. I would gladly buy it and give it to all my friends for Christmas.
Poached egg lover. If I woulda know, I would have made a special batch for you while me and Rdub devoured the lard.
Frying them, grows hair on your chest, and that isn't to lovely on ladies this century.
Golly GOLLY!
Thank you all so much for these comments! You make me feel all twitterpated.
And Sean: Ew. Lard.
I forgot these two things:
Marie: While up top, I actually was wishing for a pair of snowshoes….I'll perhaps watch for a set on sale in the spring…
Beth: Annie Dillard is my hero. Did you know that? I'm totally unworthy of comparison. 🙂 xx