Crazy snowstorm yesterday dumped about 6-7 inches on us. They were calling for 'thundersnow' and 'torrential snow' but I don't think that actually happened. We have experienced thundersnow before--thunder and lighting and snow blowing and covering everything...like something right out of Mordor. Pretty amazing. I do love extreme weather. I love how it demonstrates the power of Mother Nature, and it can be quite an adrenaline rush to be honest. It seems that so many people hate extreme weather because we can't control it--but for me I think that's part of the excitement. I think we need those reminders-that we can't control her and we're part of her so we might as well get on with it and enjoy it and leave our egos at the door.
Nature is like music to me-all the parts fit together into songs or symphonies--sun was getting hot by mid morning and the verse was running water, grackles and redwinged black birds as the chorus. Now it's late afternoon and the bridge is the chorus frogs in the flooded field, but it's that odd time of day where birds are napping, and the wind picks up, so the trees get to speak. Who knows how this day's song will close--it could be the sandhills in the distance, or our sunset-watching rooster loving the sound of his echo across the acres.
Not all sounds are pleasant here. Every day I look for Mr. White and walk around calling him, waiting for his quiet little response. A falcon made a failed attempt at some birds in the backyard this morning, and even the female pheasants took to the trees in that amazing galli burst of speed. It reminded me that late in the afternoon last week I had heard screaming, and I knew something was dying out there. But it sounded like mammal screaming to me...and then it abruptly ended. Maybe I was wrong and it was my little soft spoken Mr. White. Wish I didn't get so attached to these creatures I form relationships with. I've been feeling like I need to do some drawing or painting, and I've already bought some canvases, so I think his lovely portrait might be the first one I try.
This is the last picture of Mr. White I took, from a storm last week. He rarely was desperate enough to go out into the open, and mostly followed along the foundation of the house, where he was nicely camouflaged.
The sheep spent the night locked in the barn out of the driving wind and snow. I have to laugh when I take down the door and they look outside with a wtf sort of look. I rebooked our shearer for this weekend, when magically it's supposed to be reaching the 60s or 70s (teens or twenties I think....) Stupid fahrenheit--it still makes little sense to me so I think I'm resisting really getting on board with learning it.
I really must buckle down and study all the rest of the modules for the course at TRC next week, I've just been pretty focused on taking care of Lorpie, and thinking about this potential pasture mate for Oakley. Four full days away from the farm are going to be tough...
Mr. Winston is a quarter horse, he was a ranch horse a long time ago (you can see his brand) He was pretty sleepy in the sun here : ) Only 15hh. 22 years old.
It's supposed to snow again tomorrow, so I'd better get back out there and do something useful! (or just listen to the frogs, which is useful in a therapeutic kind of way)
Great pictures and awesome writing baby!
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