Thirty-two degrees this morning, and I haven't yet turned off the water to outlying pipes. It seems fall came and went and winter has arrived. I've got to remember to take a hammer with me to the barn this morning to nail back on the covers to the window openings for the girls (and boys). I'd kept a hammer and some other tools in the "medicine cabinet" in the milking room; it had a soft handle covering that the mice destroyed. The cold weather has made other additions to the daily routines: turn on the little space heater by the computer desk before leaving the bedroom in the morning so I can work in comfort later; shut the vents on the wood stove before going to bed so there will still be hot coals to start the fire the next day; bring firewood up to the porch when it's not raining.
Cindy pays the price for demanding the first place in line for milking. I make my apologies every morning as I put frigid fingers on her udder; about fifty squirts in before they warm up again. She probably thinks all the girls get the same treatment, and I haven't told her any different.
All those pumpkins yielded twenty cups of puree. The big double batch of cookies I baked yesterday only used two; the rest were bagged up in portions and put in the freezer (as were the cookies).
As the sun was setting and I was getting ready to go out, I glanced at the time (the new time). Good grief, it was barely five o'clock! Trips to town are going to be on a dead run to make it home in time to get the kids inside before dark. In the Silkie pen, one of the young white roosters stood inside the Taj and took a head count by bonking each one on the noggin as they came up the ramp. I heard a quiet voice behind me as I was shutting the small door to the big chicken coop and turned, thinking it was Peggy. No, it was the red hen waiting to be picked up. I wish I could know what chickens are thinking.
Going out for our nightly excursion (rainy nights excepted), the mountain was unusually quiet...no night birds calling, no distant trucks on the big road over by Mt. Aukum. There was an ice ring around the nearly full moon. It was cold enough that Bessie opted for the shortcut on the driveway, didn't dawdle as we made the circle, and headed right back to the warmth of the stove. It wasn't long before the cats, who had accompanied us but decided to stay out longer, came banging on the screen door to be let in.
It's not just the time that has changed.
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2 comments:
I think your little red hen just wants a name! And yes, where did your autumn go? Ours is just now sliding into base, as it seems like our Southern California seasons do, although that analogy is even too speedy. I guess our seasons dawdle on the baseline and sometimes turn around and head back where they came from before straightening out and moving forward to touch the next base. The furnace is on at the moment so I guess that base has been reached!
I vote to name her.....Little Red Hen!
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