That’s how it feels, for Brynn & me;
devoted flunkeys for poultry, ponies, sheep & goats; mollycoddling cats & braving the still-falling snow to make sure everyone is fed, watered & wrapped up warm whilst struggling with basketloads of firewood, up hours before dawn to rekindle the fires & heat hearth & home to a suitably snug temperature.
In payment for our efforts a couple of the senior hens have reluctantly recommenced laying; although whilst our welcome breakfast egg reappeared on the menu during January after a couple of much-maligned months’ absence, it rapidly disappeared again with the plunge in temperature.
But I’m suitably grateful. My cherished breakfast boiled egg has to be my favourite meal of the day: washed down with a restorative cup of strong Ceylon tea, the act of dipping that first crisp finger of homebaked wholegrain toast into the unctuous mandarin well of silky-soft yolk, is always a savoured pleasure. The humble hen’s egg has to be the perfect food: incredibly versatile, absolutely delicious, perfectly packaged in its’ own environmentally-friendly shell, the delicate beauty & infinite variety of that fragile oval must be Nature’s ultimate miracle.
So after a pleasurably restorative breakfast, I ventured back out into the winter chill again….& it was still snowing. In fact, it snowed almost all day; which has been all the more frustrating because at the same time, the settled snow was obviously softening. And yet for every welcome teardrop of meltwater there fluttered a multitude of feathery flakes; although as a result we were at least rewarded with a fascinating new vista of extraordinary icicles – albeit cold comfort in this wearisome weather.
So here’s a little gallery….
Even the small ferns growing in the Long Barn’s nooks, crannies & crevices have develped icicle beards.
Roll on Summer.