This is my mental image of myself on this snowy Saturday morning. When I went to bed last night, the heavy carpet of snow was gradually receding. Under the 40 foot Norway pines, large circles of grass were beginning to green up. I could almost make out the outlines of our eight 70X10 garden plots. This morning, the Pooch plows through waist deep snow. The National Weather service calls the snow "light". Since 7 am small, dangerous crystals fall furiously at a 65 degree angle from the North. The single lone goose who's been flying to the river at night to roost, found a mate last evening. I thought it was a sure sign of spring. I've been watching the juncos. When they head north, I can plant seedlings in the growth chamber I've constructed in Dawn's soap studio on the south end of the garage. Snow complicates everything. Snow adds drudge work that was a daily feature through most of January and December.
In simplicity there is beauty the wise old sage says. The natural color palette for winter is variations of brown, gray, black and ,oh yes, white-white-white. My escape these days is The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. The narrator is a dog. I'm a sucker for dogs, stories about dogs, dog movies, anything dog. Enzo, the dog in this story, claims that dogs become people in the next life. We don't have a dog. We have a cat who thinks he's a dog.
I have digressed and I apologize. In the book previously mentioned is a subtle truth. That which you manifest is before you.
What did I do to manifest all this white stuff. The cartoon drawing is Dawn's 1990's version of me. It was part of a project for our trading post business. I never thought the image was a good likeness of me. I did appreciate her skill at line drawings in black and white.
The cee-ment Holstein at right belongs to Jorge, retired cop, former megalopolis city alderman and hermit who lives at the top of a hill across from the Amish. I have many Jorge stories, but for now, you'll have to settle for one more snow picture.
I must shovel out the wagon, head off to the closest burg to get some money for the hog being delivered on Monday. If I plan this right, I can shoot through the town dump and offload a few bags of garbage, pick up a Godfather sandwich at the Cheese Corner and scan the 99 cent movie rentals at the Village Market. Ta Ta.
Maybe Wilbur just needs new glasses
10 hours ago