DH came down to the farm yesterday to commune with his cabin and took this photo of me leaving the barn after chores. I’m wearing my “Carhartt rags” (the patches at my ankles have rotted off). But more interesting is what I’m not wearing. No puffy down vest. No jacket. No gloves. It was over 30° F.
And see the ground? Bare, with scattered patches of ice.
Last year at this time I had to hire a big backhoe/loader to come push back the giant snowbanks. This year we haven’t had a real storm all season. The “vault of winter” never closed.
I look out at my heaped manure piles and feel a twinge, knowing that if I were a serious farmer, I could be loading and running my spreader over the frozen ground almost every day.
This morning it is cold again. 3° above zero. Yet tomorrow it is due to yo-yo back up in the 40s and stay there for three days, with rain.
DH can’t remember any winter quite as bad as this one, in the almost 30 years he’s lived here. Our ski town that depends on tourism is hurting.
I worry about the effect of the see-sawing temperatures on young trees. Last week I passed a nursery in Vermont where an acre of young arborvitae, unprotected by snow, appeared brown and dead. I also wonder about drought next spring, if we have no snow-melt.
We’re all scratching our heads.