It is 12° F this morning. Our high yesterday was 34° and flakes of snow fell on and off from the grey sky. Never amounting to anything, but still a warning from winter. I’m coming, I’m coming.
For Lucy and DH, my cross-country skiers, winter snow can’t get here soon enough. I, however, am hoping for at least one more week to get my outdoor chores accomplished. Two would be better.
My long list is taped to the refrigerator. Painting, weedwhacking, mowing, washing summer buckets and putting them away, tying up and storing my sheep netting, burning brush, planting bulbs, filling potholes in the barn stalls, replacing old lines in the barn paddock electric fence, delivering lamb orders — and on and on.
I dropped off D’s lunch in town. “Got all that dirt spread yet?” he inquired. Last weekend he had delivered sixteen tons of bank sand to improve the footing in my muddy barn paddock.
“Actually, I’ve shoveled most of it but I still have about three tons to go.”
“What’cha been doin’?”
In another week or two I’ll be shut down, and whatever I haven’t done will have to remain undone until spring. Even while I dread the big freeze I am almost looking forward to it.