Happy New Year!

Twenty degrees again this morning.  I just took a thawed hummingbird feeder out so the poor little guy who was trying to lick on the frozen one could get some sustenance.  There are a few hummers that didn't go elsewhere for the winter, less here this year than in the past.  The feeders never thawed yesterday...I think it got all the way up to thirty-two late in the afternoon.  (The weatherman who said thirty-seven didn't look at my thermometer.)  I'll have to take warm water out to the chickens today; their waterers stayed frozen, too.  I keep a special stick nearby to break the ice in the goat trough.  My view today is as white with frost as if it had snowed.

There is an unexpected drawback to writing this blog.  I don't have a lot of interaction with "real-life" people, and sometimes I forget to whom I spoke last and/or whether I told them such-and-such, and I dislike repeating myself.  (Repetition is a curse of age, anyhow.)  Since most of the people with whom I do converse also (thankfully) read the blog, I have nothing new to say!  "Oh, yes...I read about that."  Or, on the off chance that something of interest might have cropped up, I can't say it out loud because it is blog fodder.  I was writing a letter to a friend this morning, and I can't say any of the good stuff I was writing to her, as she would think I was giving her predigested information and it would hurt her feelings. 

A word about letters.  (And it is not just because I am reading "As Always, Julia."  Please note the correction of the title.)  I truly enjoy, utilize, and appreciate the expediency and monetary savings of email...hearing from a friend in any form is wonderful...and to think one can instantaneously stay in touch for free no matter where you are in the world is amazing.  But consider...in literature, where would we be without the collected correspondence of so many (including Julia Child)?  No one is going to save the emails of our celebrities, authors, romantics, the movers and shakers of the world.  Future generations are going to lose the experience of sharing and learning from the innermost fears, loves, hates, intrigues, losses, and triumphs of those who shape our lives...all because of the "delete key."  This doesn't even speak to "reading between the lines" in a letter.  Does the letter come on formal stationery or on a scrap of torn paper.  Choice of pen/pencil speaks volumes.  Emotion is reflected in handwriting...pressure, script, size, etc.  A letter is personal.  Perhaps this is not as far from the farm as might be imagined.  While it is electronic...this is my letter, such as it is.

Lest I begin to repeat myself, HAPPY NEW YEAR from Farview Farm!!