It started snowing the night before last and snowed all yesterday. The wind speed was higher than the temperature. That means snow drifts over a foot tall. Then it snowed all night (another five inches) and all today. But the real snow accumulation will be tomorrow. Am I boring you? Well, if you live in town, weather is small talk and if you have a 26-year-old llama in the barn, it isn’t. But I have plenty of feed and this snow isn’t a catastrophe. It’s just January snow in November.
The weather has changed in the half-century I’ve been in Colorado. I believe climate change is happening everywhere. You can think what you like. Climate change doesn’t need you to believe in it.
I was 45 when I bought this farm. Those first winters, I bragged about my bad-assery during storms here on the high prairie. I let people know when a hydrant froze, and I had to carry water for the horses. It made me sound tough. Now at 70, I don’t let the hose freeze. And I have more bad-assery than my whiny-martyred-self even imagined back then. Don’t feel sorry for me, I have wardrobe. I layer myself until I look like an inflatable lawn ornament, snap on a headlamp, and move like a sasquatch in my winter muck boots. Then I get to stay in the barn for as long as my fingers can stand it. I feed mush and fill hay bags. 
My mare, Clara, has a cut. Brilliant red icicles dangle from her fetlock and she’s limping. I bend over and pull off a glove. No heat in the joint, the cut is clean and not too deep. The bleeding stopped long enough ago to freeze. I chip off the frozen blood and let nature do the rest of the healing. She’s keeping it well iced, so I warm my hands under Clara’s mane and stay out longer.
My appearance has changed since living here. I like things that make my eyes wrinkle but at over 7k feet, I wear glasses that change to darken the glare of sun and snow. My squint muscles get all the exercise they need going to the feed store. Eventually I learned how to keep hay out of my bra. Can’t imagine what took me so long.
You could say I’ve let myself go since they cut the cancer off my nose. I have a crevice of a scar running down the center that makes me look like Carl Malden. But I didn’t care what my nose looked like before; so no real change after all. Not that anyone in my barn judges me.
I want to make friends with my wattle, the hidden language of my scars, and the saggy bits of me that are migrating south. I’m always embarrassed for the women who fight age and gravity. We’re supposed to think they look young for their age, but the thought of them having been accidentally embalmed worries me. Besides, I wouldn’t want my body to look like I only wore it to church on Sundays.
I’m dawdling now, sweeping bits of hay, because it takes less time to do chores in a snowstorm. I can’t muck in this weather, but I feed more hay to keep the horses warm. The result should be a disgusting mess, but magically, it isn’t. Fresh snow covers the piles of manure not long after they drop. The pen looks pristine under the yard light. Sparkling perfection, and I let it be. The poop isn’t going anywhere without me. The sun will come out again. It always does, and I’ll get to spend a whole day cleaning up. Call it a vacation away from mucking, followed by a muck vacation. I am blessed with ready entertainment and low expectations.
I throw some extra hay and put out more kibble for the barn cat. He’s a ginger tom with a wide flat head. He walks through the pens like a mercenary, knowing I’m the enemy. I fill a container that probably holds half of his body weight, but the cat is a humanitarian. He eats his fill and leaves the rest for whoever wanders by. Wild creatures are more generous than those of us who live in captivity. A tomcat can’t cure world hunger, but he does his bit. I fear this tough guy shares with mice because they are fat and seem a bit disgruntled if I move their bales.
There is a special quiet in the barn on a snowy night. A silent night. It’s not just that the roads are all closed. The flakes are huge and heavy, compacting the snow already fallen. There will be ice tomorrow, but now the world feels padded and safe. The horses are stock-still conserving their heat. I wish they’d stay dry under the roof, but then it’s not like I’m hurrying into the house. We all know what we’re doing.
Sometime late tomorrow, the clouds will break. There will be some farting and tomfoolery. The herd will buck it out, but soon everyone will hit the ground and nap near each other. This cold beauty takes a toll.
Some days, it feels like pain will never stop, but it always does. Trust the pendulum of change doth swing on. This dark season will give way to fluorescent spring colors. For now, hunker down and let the storm blow itself out.
Some people will think they’re lucky, while others will believe the world is working against them. It’s only fear that makes us speak in hyperbole. If we catastrophize life, and allow ourselves to dwell in worry about the worst likely outcome, we are truly giving away our vote for the future.
Trust there is justice in the long game. Better to ride out the storms knowing labels, like good or bad, obscure the view. As for the things we can’t control, we can howl, cheer, or despair. Then buck it out.
I attend the Church of Mother Nature. We have prayer meetings daily in the barn. Any donkey will tell you that the simple work is a prayer to life. Grazing or mucking or taking a dirt bath is praise. The wind will carry our voices away. Nature will have the last word. Let her hold you through the storm.
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amen to that.
thank you
Thanks, Chris. It’s what we share with the ocean between us.
Thank you Anna! I think I have taken my first breath in days.
Thanks, Peggy. One storm at a time.
Thank, you Anna, beautifully written. If we can all adopt this spirit, we will get through whatever is to come. I’m so thankful for a life filled with furry and feathered creatures that help give perspective on what is truly important in this life.
Thanks for reading Claire. It’s easy to lose perspective in a storm.
Thank you for your words. I’m also spending a lot of time in the barn where it is easier to breathe.
Thanks, Sue. We are lucky to have one.
I am 63 and the winters get harder every year. You are inspiring!! I have spent some time being reassuring some younger friends that I will do my best to help and protect them in the coming times. To all of the readers….be well and safe. We will survive…we always do.
Thanks, Amy. I agree.
Ah for a barn to “dwell” in!
Still 60s here and sun – ground is very dry. VERY weird November weather.
I too layer when the weather gets cold – my gaiters await the snow.
From the few deer I have encountered lately – nice furry brown coats so they’re ready for what ever comes.
This is a really warm, comforting post, Anna despite your snowy weather.
I get posts from TJ at Spring Creek Basin (Colorado HMA) small herd. Gorgeous pictures of the country AND the horses.
Thinking of time spent at “my” barn in the winter – sounds pretty much the same – altho I guess larger barn-more horses.
Your mention of the nose cancer – yeah, had one of those but mine was just on the side next to my nose – MOHS surgery.
And – in many instances, justice sure is in the long game – hope I get to see it!
Thanks, Maggie. Have faith.
Beautiful, and timely. Thank you.
You’re welcome, Dawn. Hurry spring.
Beautiful
Thanks, Laura
Such a beautiful essay! I feel at peace for having read it. And I want to share it with other not-so-horsey folks. South Texas has been in a drought & heatwave. When the rains do come, my herd will stay out in it and if it were socially (my husband) acceptable, I would be out there with them. Giving thanks. Thanks for the land, the animals and the rains that nourish it all. Instead I’ll happily sit in the barn watching the rain and smelling the parched earth as the water seeps in. Wishing you & yours well through this winter season.
Thanks, Sueann. Best wishes back.
Anna, thank you for this. Thank you for helping us find a way to talk about it…without talking about it. And for reminding us what matters. That is how we move through.
I agree. It’s good to find the horizon. Thank you.
Thank you Anna. This is exactly what I needed to hear. This has been a difficult year. Then I broke my ankle badly, and 8 weeks later I still can’t put weight on it yet. I was holding my breath for November 5, but woke up on the 6th feeling like the sun had gone out. But you’re right. I have to find a way to buck it out. Thank you.
I hate to agree with you on this, but it’s been one of my worst years. So it goes, we’ll buck it out. Thanks Cynthia.
Here in the Mid-Atlantic State of Virginia, we’ve had nothing but blue skies, calm winds, and persistent green grass for over a month now. Added to that is a very low humidity level which makes 70-80% weather pure delight. We welcome snow here whenever it shows up, but we don’t clamor for it nor mourn its absence when it declines to make an entry…just sayin’!
And it goes without saying being in the barn no matter the weather is our mantra every day.
Thanks, Anna.
Ah, the weather comes and goes. Thanks Lynell. Meet you in the barn.
Same weather here in NY, Lynell. Its really weird in November – have to say.
No barn but lots of walks by the woods with my dog – it does help.
Yes, animals and nature are a solace always. I hope it doesn’t take too long to see the weather change.
Thanks, Deirdre. Hurry spring.
“Better to ride out the storms knowing labels, like good or bad, obscure the view.”
Brilliantly said. And I’m glad I live in a place where it’s only down to 48 F right now! Brrrrr. At least the tap water is finally coming out cold.
Thanks, Linda. Hello to the cactus and javelinas.
Ye gads! I can’t believe the snowstorms are already hitting this far south! Thank goodness I’m in central TX and it’s missing us – just rain here for some of us – much needed in some parts. I DO remember what seems like a million years ago living in Denver at this time of the year. Husband was a first year AG teacher and we got a HUGE snowstorm for Halloween. Sure messed up a lot of kids and their trick or treating! I don’t recall seeing bare ground again until spring either. I grew up in New England and even WE didn’t ever catch anything like that at that time of year! Not while I lived there anyway!
I’m a tad older than you, but still don’t relish feeding and handling hay in the cold. Right now, I still have plenty of pasture and only two horses left along with an ancient burro who runs the show. I have developed a system for dealing with what cold we have here – nothing like it was back in Denver! Thank goodness! Dragging and draining hoses through snow drifts wasn’t my favorite thing, but I was still in my 20’s then and used to the winters in New England. Not so big a deal. But we all do what we have to, to make it through…
Thanks Leslie. Barnwork keeps me strong and inspired. I see the high side of it because it’s where I am. I wouldn’t trade a snowdrift for the heat you’ve had in TX… We’re both right where we should be.
Such a graceful essay making a lovely arc. And yes, I’ll probably be farting and bucking a lot, too, as I then get strangely calm. I really loved reading this. Thank you.
And you’ll be in good company. Thanks, Minna
Oh how I needed a good dose of Anna right about now. Thank you for your perspective, your humor, your wisdom. Hugs, Sherry
Always good to hear from you, Sherry. You make me smile, too.
Metaphor brilliantly executed. Thanks. Hunkering down. At some point I need to help move snow, and muck out, but where to start?
Once the wind settles, the edge will be clear. Thanks, Amber.
What have you found that works to keep the hay out of your bra? All the layers you wear?
I might have to devote a whole blog to this answer… patience, Virginia. It’s on the way.
Come to think of it – I meant to ask that earlier & forgot! I dont remember EVER being successful in that!
Beautiful and wise. As always.
Thanks, Jackie. I’m probably just reciting something I heard in the barn.
Thanks, Anna. I would like to add – while we wait for spring (again) – that we please reach out with aid to those in our communities who are more seriously impacted by the coming storms than we are. There will be many. ☮️ ☮️ ☮️
Done, and thank you.
Here in New Zealand we are in the constantly changing moods of Spring. I loved reading this today Anna 😊 Thank you for continuing to share your thoughts and daily doings!
Karyn
Thanks, Karyn. I miss all my friends there. Love that it’s the other side of the seasons there.
That is simply beautiful, thank you.
You’re welcome, Ginny. Thanks
This was a much-needed perspective. But I fear that along with the storm, there is a vigilance needed to avoid the massive meteors that may fall at any moment.
I’m in the northeast, and we’ve so far had not a flake of snow or even a drop of rain. But I know it will be coming.
Early weather or late, it will come. We can only do our best. Thanks Susan.
We have had really beautiful weather in northern Ky for several weeks. I’m not looking forward to the inevitable cold months, however looking like the michelin man does keep the hay out! My plan is to stay relentlessly positive. Continue to treat others with respect, kindness and example. Actually DOING what the sunday church people pretend. Work at my small local level to affect change. Keep myself healthy in all ways so to better be able to ride out the storm. Thanks Anna for having a place where I feel like I belong. My barn crew is calling. Heading off to bible study! 🐴
Sounds like a plan. Thanks, Tricia
I just re-read this comment and that’s the best description of being at the barn I’ve heard! My kind of bible study!
Lovely, thoughtful essay Anna. Be safe in the icy snow. The climate and weather in your hometown is good in all respects.
Thanks, Beverly.
Anna, you’ve done it again – written the thoughts we hadn’t articulated yet, but now we know just the words. I would try to buck it out in reality but am bucking a bunch in my head, which is just enough to feel the freedom we still have. Keep it up, my friend, you are writing treasures here…
Thank you, my friend. All these years… I’ll keep at it if you will do the same. Thanks for all you do.
Soothing and hopeful. An allegory to my heart’s delight.
We will need both and far far more to weather the mega storm in the offing… quite literally since the climate sceptics par excellence now hold the reins. Their grip is neither light nor compassionate… It left a nasty bitter aftermath in the mouths of the thousands who lost their reproductive rights in the USA… the balance of power in the Supreme court deciding otherwise. This time the senate and the house of representatives have turned… No checks and balances… Balance… a word we so cherish.
We the lucky ones, hands and noses buried in the warm scented manes of our steadfast compasses, may blinker forward come snow drifts, avalanches, floods and fires…
Thanks, Prita. I’ll hold for change.
I thought I had left a comment here last week but seems I did not. Thank you for this soothing essay. You already know I’m a fellow worshipper in the Nature Church. ..with many thanks to my Earthtribe. I am trusting there is a higher intelligence at work in the world though sometimes that is not so easy to believe.
It’s 80 degrees here, and since I missed mucking yesterday I will catch up today and meditate on these matters.. So glad you are here to connect like-minded souls through your writing and other efforts. My mentor Will would call you a Cultural Creative.
Thank you, Sarah. So nice to be reminded of Will. I think I like that idea.
I read this again today, a pick-me-up that was needed and appreciated. I must know – HOW do you keep hay out of your bra?
Teehee. Julianne, so many asked that I wrote about it the next week.
https://annablake.com/problem-solving-and-hay-in-our-bras/