The leaves are off the trees behind the house, opening up our field of view to the hills beyond the red barn. This morning, a tiny black ball of fur frolicked on the hillside, a newborn calf testing out his gangly legs. Little John, fuzzy as a giant cuckleburr, stood under a bare oak tree at the far end of the pasture and eyed me across the valley as I fed the chickens. Nope, not Martha, he quickly assessed. Not worth a mad gallop for a bit of sweet feed.
It's so easy to see the birds among the tree trunks and branches now. The sun-flash of a goldfinch. The stark red and white and black of a woodpecker, like a Japanese ink drawing on gray bark. A flurry of blue. A burst of red. The bright white bellies of the juncos.
Ben built the first fire of the season yesterday, to chase away the gray dregs of a rainy day. Toasted marshmallows for dessert, and card games in front of the fire. Today, venison chili for lunch - mmmmm, it just feels good to cradle the warm bowl in cold fingers and inhale the spicy steam.
Here we go, over the brink into three months in the freezer.
found an old poem from baby felix
3 weeks ago