Here I was, ready to do some first-class whining about the drop in temperature down into the teens, and then I got a call from my friend in Seattle who is facing a major snow storm and read my favorite blog, "Of Moose and Men," in Alaska where the thermometer is reading minus-twelve. I'm certainly not going down to the barn in a bikini this morning, but frozen pipes and frigid fingers are pretty picayune when I hear what others are facing.
In defense of my own sniveling, it is cold enough that the cats have opted for indoor potty-box privileges, having put one foot out the door and backing up quickly. I've had to wait until late afternoon to fill the waterers and trough; no water from the taps in the morning. Bessie snoozes in the house, moving from one patch of sunlight to another, finally parking by the wood stove which has been fired up all day and well banked last night. Birds were skating on the goats' trough yesterday, and I had to whack through the ice to let the girls drink. It may not be so bad, but it's pretty darned cold!
Last year I mentioned seeing for the first time the two bushtit nests, those marvels of weaving hanging in the bare oak branches. The other day I started noticing more; there are at least nine in three different trees. Have they always been there, or are we being colonized?
Woot woot! We're almost up to thirty degrees this morning! It's going to be a good day.