Winter, All At Once.
The fear, the damage, the gratitude, and the beauty woven through it all.
Winter arrived the way it often does here … quiet at first, then all at once.
The ice came softly in the beginning, settling onto the pastures and fence lines like a thin glass glaze. But as the hours passed, it grew heavier. It gathered onto the trees, coating every branch with a thick armor until they could no longer hold the weight. One by one, limbs began to give way.
The sound was startling. Sharp and sudden like a cannon firing somewhere in the dark. Close enough to make your heart jump. I sat up in bed, our power had been out for a few hours and it was cold outside of the covers. I stared into the dark, listening as branches snapped and crashed all around the farm, the stillness broken again and again through the night. There’s a certain kind of fear that comes with a storm like that. I think it was partially just the waiting, the not knowing what might fall next, and where it may land.
By God’s grace, the animals and our house was spared. Our business was spared. The barn and the sheds stood strong. But we were not untouched.
One of our big oak trees shattered apart in pieces. It fell across the driveway, busting a wide portion of the fence with it as it came down. Other stretches of fence outlining the property and pastures still sit draped in heavily fallen limbs, bent and burdened, waiting their turn to be cleared, too. Repairs will come with time when the ice loosens its grip in the shadows and the days allow for it. For now, we work around what’s been broken, doing what we can and leaving the rest for later.
Our power has been out for nearly a week now, and they say it may be a few more weeks before it returns. With all of this, you would think life may shift into a slower, quieter rhythm, but it feels just as fast-paced, if not more. Mornings begin bundled in layers, your breath visible in the cold air. Slowly but surely, the crunch of frozen ground under our boots has began melting and it’s been so beautiful to see grass again. When the ground was a layer of ice, shimmering in the sun and we skated around on our boots refilling water troughs – we talked about what was coming next … the mud, once the ice melted into puddles. But I am not bothered, not at all at the amount of mud on the ground. It’s not the most fun, and it certainly does not look pretty, but it just means we are one more step closer to Spring.
The sheep have been just fine through it all. Their beautiful wool keeps the chilly weather out on purpose. Watching them, you’re reminded how thoughtfully they were made. We are thankful they have done so well. They gather at the fence-line every morning watching and waiting, and sounding the aaaalarm when they see you coming with the feed buckets. I sat with them after the trees had calmed from breaking. It was quiet, calm, less frantic feeling. I thought they were going to all pile into my lap. Butterbean, Lavender, Tomato Pie, Truffles, Peppercorn, so many were resting their heads onto my shoulders, back, hands, with their smiles and fleece tucked in my hands. Such precious little gifts, each of them, that just tug my heart everyday.
Even in the coldest weather, the warmth these babies give back just keeps our hearts drifting forward.
I have found myself dreaming about Spring and all of the little lambs we anticipate soon.
Stay warm, friends.
Brooklyn
The Velvet Keepsake
