Winter at the Farm
by Beth Hoffman, In the Dirt
Here’s a great post by Beth Hoffman from her column In the Dirt. These photos give us a window into winter and a welcome respite from the rest of the world.
Winter has come to Iowa, with her bipolar intensity, one minute a dramatic teenager eager for attention, the next a shy toddler unsure of herself, hiding in her uninviting horizons and still nights.
Yet the cold speaks to me in a way no heat ever has, with an aliveness, a tingle. It’s an experience, winter. A nagging, energetic experience, unlike the half-awake of a humid summer day. Winter is not a shopping event or a made-for-TV special; it is life and death at the same time, swirling around us, making us wonder which will be our fate.
And the animals?
The cats have become couch ornaments, competing against each other in the Longest Nap Possible category, their shapes contorted and exposed.
Bare tree stumps and fallen logs call out to the wiley dogs, the elusive rabbits taunting them like Sirens. “You can’t get me,” the cold breeze whispers, and the hunt is on again.
The ever-stoic cattle have donned their most unenthusiastic look, nonplussed by Mother Nature’s tantrums, their thick hides an armor against cold and ice. Their coats shimmer with ice, a dash of unrepentant bling in the drab of another gray day, apathetic party animals without a party to be found.
The goats, on the other hand, prepared for winter a month ago by growing three coats, each heaped on top of the other, their size growing exponentially in breadth and depth.
And speaking of coats, don’t forget the ducks, their down jackets an unrecognized treasure when faring the cold nights.
It is just another day on the farm, another day in rural America, and I am grateful for winter. It feels good to be alert to life, to the grays and pinks so subtle you might miss them if you forget to look. To get off my phone and computer, and to experience, instead of to have.
And, perhaps most importantly, winter gives us our time back, time that feels as long and precious as a sleeping baby submerged in a darkness of night. It is time we get to write, to visit, to cook. Time to simply be.
Know someone who needs a little time away to meet goats, walk in the winter, or write their best-selling novel? Get them a gift certificate good for any of our products or events at the farm.
We offer overnight stays (with a home-cooked meal!!), classes (beginning again in March) and our Iowa-famous dinners (August, September and October).
I am happy to be part of the Iowa Writers Collaborative. Follow us in the Sunday Round-Up and the Wednesday Flipside.
The contrast between winter as both "life and death at the same time" really captures something I've felt but never articulated that well. That idea of seasonal intensity being different from temperate weather makes alot of sense, especially thinking about how effort changes across seasons. Grew up in a climate where winter meant being hyperaware of every decision outside, and that definately creates a different relationship with time. The part about animals preparing so differently (goats layering, ducks with down) shows how nature doesn't do one-size-fits-all adaptation.
Thanks for reposting Mary!