The past few days have seen our temperatures see-sawing up and down. Below zero, then warming above freezing with rain, then plunging to zero again. The winds accompanying these colliding weather fronts have been brutal. We’ve had snowfall with white-out conditions, where you could barely see ten feet in front of you. Meanwhile the scouring winds have scraped the ground bare in many places, only to dump drifts in others.
DH had old college buddies up for a weekend of skiing, so apart from barn chores I spent most of my time cooking and cleaning. Neither is my favorite task but it was reminiscent to me of the peacefulness I felt when I was tied down by small children. My life was circumscribed and my goals were limited. Picking up toys. Making beds. Reading aloud. Folding small shirts and pants, matching tiny socks.
This weekend as I grated potatoes for breakfast hash browns or skimmed cream for ice cream or polished the table, I felt a similar rush of pleasure in domesticity.
Perhaps I enjoyed it even more acutely because it is due to stay below zero all this week — it is -10° F now — and I know I must spend four days mucking the deep bedding out of the sheep stall.