Squeaky snow and fire skies

There’s just something about squeaky snow that takes me back to my childhood. You know the sound–the temperature has to be very low, and the snow very dry–there is something just so satisfying and comforting about walking in this type of snow, like the snow is having a conversation with you. Every time I hear it I’m first shocked at the sound, then amused that I could have forgotten the sound, then carried away on a wave of nostalgia. 

We lived very close to our elementary school. We walked to school every single day. Even kids who lived many blocks away walked to school. There was no bus and parents figured the fresh air was good for us. We would be bundled up like Ralphies’ little brother on A Christmas Story. The scene where the mom is wrapping the scarf in endless loops around her sons’ face was my childhood. I can remember peering out the slit between wraps, struggling to breath as my breath froze on the scarf making an impenetrable ice shield covering my mouth and nose. Pity the poor teacher who, at lunch and at the end of the day, had to dress and wrap up her entire class, because of course we walked home for lunch too.  

Walking out to the bus early in the morning thru that squeaky snow always makes me smile. 

The other day I saw a beautiful sliver of a moon. A line from one of my children’s books read: “… A moon as thin as a mouses’ whisker.”  This is not my picture but this is what I saw. This is what my phone saw. Sigh. My cell phone camera tries, but it’s not a miracle worker. However I think it did a pretty good job capturing these sunrise/sunset shots. A little reward for living in such a brutal climate.    


Egg yoga

Full disclosure. I’m lazy. If faced with the choice to get a container for eggs or to just put them in my pocket, I’ll generally choose my pocket. Of course if I’m wearing something with no pockets I’ll have to take the ten steps back to the grainery to pick up a container–there’s no shortage of pails, coffee cans, yogurt containers etc to put the eggs in. But those ten steps are daunting. 😊

Timing is important too. If I pick eggs early in the chore process then I have to do the egg dance, or egg yoga,  for the remainder of my chores. If I don’t pick them right away then I risk forgetting them completely–leaving them to freeze, or worse,  be eaten. Everyone loves farm eggs. 

Bending is the most dangerous manoeuvre. Actually squatting, something I can’t really do anyway with my knees.  Going down is ok–sort of–but getting back up is the problem. But I still have to empty feed tubs, and break ice out of the waterers. And the big dog wants to bump up against me, and the goats get in the way. Forking hay means I have to dance around the pitchfork handle. One wrong swing and I’ve crushed the eggs. It does happen, but not as often as it used to. Today I got lucky. The older hens sometimes lay very thin shelled eggs due the almost complete loss of calcium in their system. Even feeding oyster shell and all my used egg shells back to them isn’t enough. They are, after all, egg laying machines. So this egg was a disaster waiting to happen. But it didn’t break!!  The membrane was exposed but not punctured. 

These are a weeks worth of eggs. The girls are just loving the sunshine and longer days. Spring is coming!!