Tuesday the temperature rose to 46° F — a swing of 73° over four days. Yesterday it rose again to 43°.
The snowpack on the fields fell at least a foot. The farm driveway was plate ice running with water on Tuesday and by yesterday afternoon it was covered in six inches of heavy, rutted slush with ice underneath. Driving on it felt like steering through thick, slick-bottomed, frigid oatmeal: it was a fight to keep the wheels straight. Two weeks ago a delivery truck without four-wheel drive slid off the driveway as it was trying to climb the icy hill to leave. As the truck is coming again today, I called Damon and asked him to plow the slush clear as best he could. He did — which is a blessing, as this morning the temperature is back to normal at 18°, dropping to 3° tonight. We have a half inch of fresh snow.
In the dark before dawn I can hear the wind thrashing in the trees.
Still, the short warm break was lovely for me and all the animals. After our long winter, 46° felt like Florida. K and Andy, my Pilgrim geese, were ecstatic in the puddles.