What a grey, slushy, wet, muddy day! It’s disgusting out there! And now the temperature is dropping and the wind is picking up; it is altogether funky.

I feel like maybe my brain is beginning to atrophy. With DH gone so much, it seems like my life consists of nothing but dishwashing, cooking, laundry, and cleaning. With a sprinkling of homeschooling and farming.

You know what? I think I may finally have cabin fever! That explains a lot. Usually I’ve gotten it much earlier than this, so really, I’ve been lucky this year. OK, I feel better—I can handle a little cabin fever.

The girls and I brought down a box full of my old cassette tapes today and they got a kick out of listening to them: Michelle Shocked, The Andrews Sisters, some very old Linda Ronstadt, The Eagles. It’s really fun watching the girls get into music that I was into so many years ago. It gives me a funny sense of time slippage; come to think of it, that may have something to do with my melancholia tonight.

Today was a lovely lazy Sunday. DH only ended up being away from the house for a short time, and then worked on firewood a bit this afternoon, in preparation for the “scary winter storm” coming our way. (Nudge nudge wink wink—the last several haven’t panned out at all.) M* brought J* up to hang out with the girls today, and we ended up playing several games of Quidler, all of which, being the extraordinary hostess that I am, I let her win. And after that, it was just a loll-about-the-house kind of day. M* brought us a movie—Enchanted April—which was perfect for the mood in the house.

Nice day—DH and I both feel rested.

So. This winter storm thing. They’re calling for up to a foot of heavy wet snow, and right now it’s 35° and raining. Ick and double ick. I really shouldn’t complain though—we’re warm, cozy, and well fed in here, and it’s sort of nice listening to the rain on the tin roof.

Well, there’s a lovely, pristine (for now) white Subaru Outback sitting, shining, in the muddy driveway. It felt great to be back behind the wheel of a Subaru coming home on 209 last night, all little and zippy. Her name is Sugar (“How original”, said my sister T, dripping with sarcasm, when I told her—-but we weren’t aiming for original, just affectionate.); the name Creampuff was already taken by M*. What is your car’s name?

Getting her on the road meant a visit to the scary dragon lady at the license tag office. As I waited in line for a small eternity, I sweated and prayed, knowing there was no way I could possibly have everything I needed on the first try, and that with one biting and humiliating sentence she would send me cringing out the door like the craven dog I am. (This is really a scary lady: just say her name to anybody who has needed to get a tag from her—-that’s everybody—and watch the beads of perspiration pop out on their foreheads.) Miraculously (or maybe it was because I called in advance) I had everything I needed yesterday, so although she muttered ominously the whole time, she had to issue me my tag—-on the first trip! You could tell she wanted to send me on a dangerous quest or an impossible mission to bring back some tiny inconsequential stamp or signature, but she couldn’t do it. Just one more thing to be thankful for.

So it’s Saturday, and DH is off to work again. He’s working tomorrow, too—a little bit on the job, and the rest of the day helping a friend on his house. I miss him a little, but a little space and a lot of money—in February!—are good things. It’s all good.

Yesterday Bronwen, our Angus-Jersey heifer got a bucket stuck over her head when she pushed her nose into it to look for feed. She freaked out and took off running, with ED in hot pursuit. She climbed the fence and headed up the mountain, and it was both hilariously funny, and kind of tense. I mean she’s not a real tame cow—and it wasn’t looking like ED was going to be able to get close to her, so I started thinking about the worse case scenario, which would’ve been to shoot and butcher her, which we need to do, but I wasn’t neccesarily ready to do it yesterday. Fortunately, though, she ran headlong into a pole by the upper barn, and knocked it off her head. Poor ED—torn between laughing hysterically and feeling terribly sorry for Bronwen, who must’ve gotten a bit of a headache at the very least! So the deed is yet again postponed for another day.

Bellydancing was great last night. Quite a workout, however; I was pretty quivery afterwards. It’s so nice to see everybody, and chat and eat; it’s easy for us to all turn into hermits this time of year.

Thank goodness we have bellydancing tonight—my mood needs something. My weight loss is stalled—the scale seems to be stuck at 6.5 lbs down—and it’s been over a month! It’s funny—I’m stuck at right around last year’s low weight; I guess it’s what is called a setpoint—a weight that you’ve previously spent a good deal of time at, and that your body is comfortable with. I console myself with my measurements: down two inches on waist, chest and hips, but still! I want to see that blasted number go down!

OK, enough of that.

We are really low on firewood; DH has been working so much that he hasn’t been able to keep up with our firewood consumption, and I can’t find anybody to buy some from! (And I am not chainsaw approved.) Today I must really find someone to sell me some!

They’re calling for a wintry mix tonight and tomorrow. Ick.

DH and I woke to the sound of thunder this morning. We’ve had a few big downpours since then, and now there is a lake of fog sitting in the valley between us and the next ridge. The big willow is showing just the faintest hint of green, and A* is right—the maples have fat red buds.

DH is feeling burned out—-66 hour weeks will do that to you, I guess. I looks like we should be able to take our Charleston trip sometime in mid-March. He’ll be ready!

P* had a goat in labor Saturday, and we went over after she gave birth. The poor thing had 4 kids! One was born dead, and another was tiny and weak; I thought he had a chance of making it, but as of last night it looked unlikely. Four is a lot of babies; any time we’ve had quads, at least one has died before or shortly after birth. The two that are left—a buck and a doe—seem healthy, and they’re terribly cute.

The fog has now rolled up the mountain and engulfed us; thunder rumbles in the distance.

China tea, the scent of hyacinths, wood fires and bowls of violets—that is my picture of an agreeable February afternoon.
—Constance Spry

DH has to leave for work at 6:30 on Saturday mornings. That’s A.M. Though this morning it has turned into more like quarter til 7. This does not come natural to him; like he says, he’s an old hippie, and old hippies do not work 11 hour days! I must suppress a sadistic little chuckle as he rushes out the door, remembering all the times I had to leave in the cold dark dawn to go cook breakfast at the Inn, and there he would be, curled up all warm on the couch with a blanket on his lap and a hot cup of coffee warming his hands. He really is working hard right now, and he’s actually being quite cheerful about it. Thanks, DH!

The girls and I have to make a fast run to the feed store this morning before they close at noon. We’ll probably swing by the library and the grocery store while we’re out; maybe I’ll pick up something fun for supper and see if F* wants to come up. (Are you reading this, F*? Wanna come up?)

The house is heavy with the scent of hyacinths right now—it’s nearly overwhelming. I bought all white ones last fall, because white flowers seem to always be more fragrant than their colorful counterparts, and put them in pots which have been cooling on the cellar stairs all winter. Except for one pot, which has been sitting on the pantry floor all this time. It didn’t chill properly, and it started blooming before any of the others, and the flowers are about half as tall as they should be. But they’re still packed absolutely full of florets, and the fragrance is astonishing: it’s heavy and rich, and very sensual, with the sweet, light floral notes on top. Very lovely, and it fills me with this yearning sense of longing; for what, I don’t know. To travel to some exotic place, or to put seeds in the dark, dark ground. Or to become someone new and surprising; the feeling of spring, I suppose, when everything seems possible, or even likely.

The smell of the hyacinths combines with the smell of woodsmoke in the house. I’ve noticed this winter the different smells of the different woods we burn. Locust is a little bit nasty smelling to me, black walnut smells like an insecticide, and oak isn’t great, but the other day I burned a bunch of maple branches that I cleaned up out of the yard, and the smoke smelled wonderful. Hickory smells delicious when it burns, and apple has a very pleasant fragrance. It’s too bad that locust and oak are our main woods this year!

Today was gorgeous and sunny, but the wind was bitter! Looking out the window, it felt like you should be outside, but it was kind of awful once you got out there. In spite of the somewhat forbidding weather, M* and I took a brisk walk through the Hot Springs campground with all four kids in tow. Walking alone is more peaceful, but not nearly so entertaining!

Had a purple crocus emerge today—they always come after the yellow ones. And the temperature was 16° this morning!

Yesterday afternoon, while on my walk, I noticed a Rufous-sided Towhee (actually a pair) engaging in much activity on the banks along the driveway. There are so many birds right now, and they’re so active! We have several pairs of cardinals that frequent the bird feeders, and yesterday I saw them all fighting amongst themselves. It’s cold, but it feels like spring!