The thermometer is struggling to climb to twenty this morning. Yesterday, no matter how hard I thwacked it, I could not break the ice in the goats' trough but was able to push the iceberg down far enough for water to flow over the lip. Unfortunately, by the time I walked back up from the barn that water had frozen too. I felt so bad when I put the Silkies to bed at sundown; their little waterer had never thawed all day. I don't honestly know if chickens have the capability to lick anything, but hope they aren't getting dehydrated. I'll be hauling out a bucket of warm water for them this morning. I realize that on the steppes of Russia or the plains of Fargo, North Dakota, this would be "break out the bikini" weather, but here in Fair Play, we consider it cold! It's actually warmer when there's snow on the ground.
It was a good day to stay in the house, stoke the wood stove, watch the NFL playoff game, and make a pot of beef stew. I don't know how, even after all this time, to cook for one. All of my pots and pans are supersized. Ask me to cook for ten or twenty; I'm your gal. I've got enough stew to bag up and freeze to last a year.
My son Dave was in attendance at the game between the Green Bay Packers and the San Francisco Forty-Niners. I told him to wave at me, but that Kid never minds. I was torn between teams to root for; my allegiance to California and my long-time affinity for the Packers. Back in the 'eighties, I lost a bunch of coin betting against the Forty-Niners. They were so darned good and so darned arrogant about it. California won out, and the game yesterday was everything I could have hoped for; lots of action back and forth, and the Forty-Niners won!
Priorities being what they are, I got the wood stove fired up before I put the coffee on today. I've got a little space heater blasting by my feet back here by my desk. It's not terribly efficient, but it's keeping my fingers moving. It's just plain cold.