Embracing the Cold

Daylight savings time hits me at a really bad time.  It usually happens a few days before my birthday each year and the sudden change to early darkness combined with the realization that it is, in fact, getting colder and I am getting older sends my mood into a tailspin.

But this year, I decided to adopt my native Minnesotan attitude.

In northern Minnesota there really are only two seasons - summer and winter.  Summer is perfect for canoeing, fishing, hiking, exploring, and swatting mosquitoes but winter....winter is when the fun really happens.  Skiing, snowshoeing, ice fishing, snowmobiling, hockey, ice skating, curling, you name it and they have invented something fun to do in the snow and cold.

Given the recent plunge into this polar weather, my suspicion is that we are in for a long, cold winter and so, with that in mind, rather than dread it, I am embracing it - the cold and all its loveliness, its fun, its challenges, and especially the escape from it into a warm and toasty house with family and friends to cheer the way until Spring.  Each of the following pictures is a reminder of some of the beauty of winter.

Crisp, cold mornings when the smell of wood smoke foretells of a warm house with a cozy fire. 

 Quiet snowfalls when the earth is muffled and the snowflake crystals glimmer in the lights.

Watching in awe as tiny birds fly about in the deepest of snows and frigid temperatures surviving in a way that I cannot begin to fathom. 

The wake of a big snow storm when the digging out brings people and 

neighbors together for help and assistance. 

The thrill of the hill 

with hot chocolate and the recounting of wipeouts that follow.

Hoarfrost mornings

   Animals and their simple

 tolerance for what is

Roadways that are simply made for skiing or snowmobiling, 

but not really driving

The beauty and brutality that is Winter

The Darkest Day

I started a new tradition with my kids a few years ago. In the summer, when the weather is reasonably good, I take the oldest ones up to northern Minnesota for a little camping.  We find the remotest location possible within a State Park and set up housekeeping in a tent for three or four days.  We sleep on the hard ground, we eat food that has been warmed up over a fire and we explore the area in the hopes of seeing large and potentially dangerous animals (at a distance).  I mention this here only as a prelude to my train of thought. This camping, although rustic, is far from primal - we have an easily built fire, we have mostly prepared foods, we have a car in which to drive away if the weather turns foul, but it allows my kids to see how easy life really is for us most of the time.  This last year, I brought along a flint striker and let them set about starting their own fire.  After nearly an hour of attempts there had been only a small fizzle of flame and the need for sustenance outweighed the basic skill set of building a fire without an easy spark, and the matches were brought forth.

Camping in the woods with my kids makes me think about what sort of conditions humans survived for thousands of years. A daily job of finding shelter, food, and warmth….that's it, day after day.  No house to mortgage, clean, and repair.  No cars to buy, fix, and drive.  No jobs to employ, tax, and stress us.  Just life, simple and basic....and extremely difficult.  I like to think that, if push came to shove, I could survive better than most out in the elements.   I think about what I would need first - shelter? food? and what would be the best way of obtaining these things.  I realize that this is likely a silly thought experiment given today's world, but it and the time of year that we are in lead me to the following question:


Who originally figured out the solstice timing?

There are countless festivities around this time every year - almost every culture has some celebration or feast, but who was the first?  Early neolithic cultures in England come to mind with their stone circles that have been assumed to be related to the solstices, but the builders of Stonehenge weren't necessarily first, they just built a great huge rock configuration after they had it worked out.  What fascinates me is wondering who was the first person to take a moment in their daily drudgery and say, "is it me, or are the days getting shorter?"  At what point did homo sapians advance enough to notice that the days quietly got shorter until approximately now and then slowly begin to get longer again?

Every year, as each new season happens, I have to stop and think, "did it happen like this last year?" I marvel anew at the first green sprouts, the warm breeze, the turning of the leaves, the first snow….it is as though I have no memory of the season specifics that I have lived through for the last forty years. And the sudden realization that the nights are getting ever longer catches me completely off guard when I walk outside after work and realize I am standing in twilight.  This realization that the days are getting shorter always fills me with a certain amount of gloominess.  How much more might the first people have felt this gloom slowly engulfing them?  It must have felt like the end of days at times and for many it probably was - starvation was a fairly common form of population control and the cold weather did not make survival any easier.

What I find interesting is that among most of the cultures of the world, this celebration appears to have developed independently of one another.  There was no newspaper, no television broadcast to announce a discovery of the day upon which the earth took off again for another 585 million miles around the sun, no universally agreed upon moment of relief in which the world would heave a collective sign and think, "oh, good! We are on course for another year!"   And so, each region and culture developed their own set of beliefs and story for why things are the way they are - each slightly different, but with a common thread…..light.

Regardless of the origins, the celebrations ring similar in more ways than they are different - The coming of the light, whether it be in the form of a person or the return of the sun's warmth to the earth.  They all celebrate a subtle shifting of the earth and all its inhabitants that promises renewed hope for the future.  So, this year, whether you light a candle on a menorah, decorate a Christmas tree, burn a yule log, celebrate Kwanzaa, or light a candle and say a quiet "thank-you" to the earth and sun, remember we are all in this Earth together for another spectacular 585 million mile ride around a distant sun. The darkest day is here, now let the light come in.

Peace.

Wabi-sabi

It is the pre-holiday season again.  The first of November is quickly gone, when all the Halloween decorations have been torn down and stashed until next year and all the Christmas decorations have been put up in the department stores with merry Christmas music blaring to help inspire you to do your Christmas shopping a little early this year.  Giving thanks doesn't sell material things, so the retailers just jump right over Thanksgiving and head for what will move inventory before the fourth quarter of the year is up in order to keep the stockholders happy.  What a world, what a world.

This time of year becomes entirely too compressed, too hurried.  There is the seasonal dread of the darker days and the cold temperatures, there is the requisite shopping to be done with equal parts of faked joy and drummed up enthusiasm that will culminate in one or two days of anticipated holiday bliss which never quite lives up to our memories from childhood no matter how hard we try.  Not to mention the stresses of travel, families getting together, and parties to be attended.  I find myself caught up in a whirlwind of holiday craziness that only subsides when I flip the calendar and realize that it is January 2nd which then leads rapidly to a post holiday funk.

I used to hate the coming of winter. The end of the warmth, the darker days and longer nights, but now I have come to enjoy it as a chance to read, to sleep, to watch a movie with one of my kids on a Saturday afternoon.  As to the "pre-holiday race to new year" time….it will require a little wabi-sabi thinking.

Wabi-sabi is a Japanese philosophy that essentially encompasses the idea that nothing is ever permanent, nothing is ever perfect, and nothing is ever complete.  This imperfection, impermanence, and incompleteness are things to be valued and cherished in and of themselves rather than constantly striving for some distant, ideal "finish line".  The idea that "I will be happy when__________" is an all to common phrase, especially in the Western hemisphere, as we strive for complete infinite perfection and are constantly stressed and disappointed when it is never quite achieved.

Nature is perhaps the very best model for this concept.  Nature is perfect in its incompleteness, complete in its imperfection, and the seasons quietly change never to allow permanence. The very leaves falling off the trees outside represent Wabi-sabi in their random, chaotic distribution and eventual rotting demise.  The same will apply to the snow, and the spring mud and melting that is sure to come.

Washing dishes is probably the first place I learned to use this principle. The dishes in my house never stay washed.  I would no more than finish one load of dishes only to have my kids hand me another set from the endless meal and snack cycle that goes on with a growing family. It would make me crazy! So, in an effort to avoid the straight jacket and padded room, I learned to let the frustration go and love the process - the sorting, the mess, the hot water, the soap, the cleaning, rinsing, drying and putting away - knowing all the while that it was all right that in another ten minutes I could do it again if I wanted.   My daughters' attic bedrooms are another place where I have to employ this philosophy as well - they are a mess and even after cleaning completely they never stay clean for more than three hours.  No amount of yelling, cajoling, or applying to their (as yet underdeveloped) sense of personal hygiene is going to keep this area clean, but when I stop and realize that in a few short years, they will be grown and gone to mess up houses and apartments of their own, I have to fight the urge to add a few more random pieces of clothes to the mess for a while longer.

Somewhat related to this whole idea is another theory of, "picture it already broken" because all things - even us - will someday be gone.  My favorite coffee cup is the example I use a lot.  I know that at some point one of my children (or myself) will knock it on the floor and it will shatter. I know that typically this sort of thing would have upset me, but since adopting the "picture it already broken" philosophy, I have found that many things come and go without my typical distraught reaction because I have already dealt with their loss mentally.  I notice them and treasure them a bit more because, in my mind, they are already gone.  A bit fatalistic in some sense, but it is oddly very soothing and when a favorite dish crashes to the floor, or a beloved childhood book is found in tatters,  I now find myself thinking, "yep, that's how I pictured it" and there is now space in my cupboard and bookshelf for a new favorite item to take up residence.  I feel that even treasured items are meant to be used and loved rather than placed on a shelf somewhere safe.  I have my grandmother's china set that my mom gave to her for a present - we routinely pull these out and use them for dinners in which I would actually like the plates to match or when we have more people to dinner than we have mismatched plates.  I know that these too will slowly meet with unfortunate ends, but they will have been lovingly used in the process.

How this all applies to this chaotic pre-holiday season is this:  I stop and notice the day for what it is - windy, rainy, cold, hectic- and then, rather than allowing the typical frustration and depression to take hold, I smile and see if for it's imperfect, impermanent chaotic beauty - the quiet melancholy of the fall season. For the holidays this year, rather than striving for the great traditional celebration in which time stops in a moment of perfect  completeness, I am going to rejoice in the imperfections, the craziness, the chaos of last minute shopping, the lack of funds, the messes, the pine needles on the floor, the dry turkey, the kid that doesn't like their present, and even the turning of the year into the dark days of January because, all too soon, this too will pass and the world will roll around to spring again.

Garlic Greatness

About four years ago I realized that garlic was something that I could actually grow in Iowa.  For some reason, I had been under the impression that garlic was a tropical crop, but upon making my discovery, I launched into production.

I ordered four bulbs from Seed Savers and then was rather surprised when it showed up on my door in October.  What?! 

Turns out you start garlic in the fall and it over winters rather nicely.  Broke those four bulbs of garlic up into roughly 20 cloves and planted them 4 inches down in well tilled soil.  Then covered them with another 3 or 4 inches of straw.

And then I worried

Seriously? They can stand temperatures that reach well below zero for weeks at a time?  I was a little skeptical. 

When March finally rolled around I started patrolling the garlic patch.....and patrolling.....and patrolling.......and just about the time that I was convinced that all was lost, the garlic poked its head out of the straw and started reaching for the sky with its long green stems. 

Since that first year, I have gained more confidence in my garlic - and I have gained more garlic.  The first year we ate all but the 4 bulbs I saved back for seed in a matter of weeks, so I started saving back more bulbs each year.  Now, I am up to saving approximately 7-8  bulbs which, when split into cloves, equals approximately 40-50 bulbs of garlic.  Not to mention that I have started some from seed - these, of course, take about 2 years to get up to edible size, but they help to supplement the constant garlic cravings. 

Garlic is one of those herb/vegetable/seasoning plants that can go in just about everything.  I use it when I pickle cucumbers, I even just pickled some of the garlic by itself this year to be used later in things like salad dressings.  Every pizza gets topped with it, every jar of salsa contains it, and when in doubt it gets added to just about everything. 

The health benefits of garlic are touted to be many, and personally, I really don't doubt any of them.  My one main medicinal use of garlic however involves its use in ear aches.  Don't ask me why this works, but it has now - twice.  Slivers of garlic warmed in a tablespoon of olive oil on the stove - I take a sliver of the garlic and wrap it in a cotton ball and then place that in the ear with a little of the warm (not hot) oil that it was sauteed in. Leave it in overnight and replace in the morning if needed.....so far haven't needed to because the ear ache has been gone.   When I did this to my 9 year old, I had looked in her ears first with my otoscope and been somewhat horrified at how red they were and how much fluid was present behind the ear drum - "doctor visit for sure" I thought, but tried the garlic and the next morning she woke up happy and ear ache free.......weird, but wonderful.  

I am also convinced of garlic's ability to repel mosquitoes and other biting insects.  I haven't actually put on bug spray for a few years now because they just don't bite anymore.  Other people will be over and are constantly slapping at them so I know they still exist and are around, but I haven't had more than  two or three bites all summer.  Then again, it could be that I really smell like garlic all the time (to more than just the bugs) and have become so immune to the smell, that I no longer notice.

So, now, as the leaves all fall to the ground and the days start getting colder and shorter, I prep the soil for next year's crop of garlic, tuck it in and cover it with a warm blanket of straw.  Knowing that it is out there, huddled under the snow and straw and soil just waiting for Spring's resurrection, helps to make the quickly approaching winter a little more bearable.

The Darkness Before Dawn

I get up at 5:25 am on Sundays so I can sleep in. I know that doesn't make any sense, but bear with me a minute, there is a method to this madness. We have a very large, very fluffy dog named Gina that lives outside to keep the riffraff away from the farm. She is a wonderful dog and very good at her job, but we also live across the road from a large dog boarding facility and it takes a strong dog indeed that doesn't want to run across the road and see her other friends playing and barking.....Gina is not quite such a strong dog sometimes. So, to avoid the inevitable phone call that will come at 7 am, telling me that there is a large fluffy dog of mine across the road, I get up at 5:25 to put her in her kennel. I do it so early because if I wait until 6:30 am then I stand a chance of inadvertently waking a kid up in the house and, when one is awake it doesn't take long before five are awake. There is no sleeping in when there are five kids running around. But if I can sneak out of the house and back in again really early I have an outside chance of not waking anyone up and actually getting back to sleep myself. I know....how very devious of me. The biggest problem with getting up at 5:25 am and going outside on a January day is that the cold does an extremely good job of thoroughly waking you up. But, if I am fast enough and don't have to track my fluffy dog down, I can get back inside a warm house and curl up next to a warm husband and drift luxuriously back into sleep. There are some mornings, however, when I don't want to. Not sure how many of you have been outside a few hours before dawn in the middle of winter but there is something amazing to see.....the stars! I used to think that "starlight" was really just a figure of speech and that there really wasn't any way that those tiny pinpoints of light could actually illuminate anything, but I was mistaken. On a field of snow in the darkness before dawn, the stars make it bright enough to see the entire world around you. I find myself drifting along behind my dog on the way out to the barn where her kennel is, eyes to the heavens over head and completely enthralled with the constellations. There are always constellations to be found, but most of the clearly recognizable ones are in the winter - Orion, Taurus, Pleiades, Canis Major and Minor hunting with Orion, Perseus. The winter skies are so crisp and clear that there are times it feels as though the stars are within reach instead of millions of miles away. When I was a kid, I used to wait until it was pitch dark outside to go out and do chores and then, while the horses where busy munching hay, I would flop down in a snow bank and simply stare upwards at the expanse of the universe above. This would always come to an abrupt halt however when my mom would flick on the yard light and yell out into the yard, "Jen! Are you alright out there!" She was forever convinced that I was nightly trampled by the horses, so I would answer her that I was fine, (other than being totally blinded by the yard light suddenly coming on and shocking my dark adapted eyes) and stumble my way back into the house. I, at one time, thought that I would like to do astronomy, but then realized that the mystery and magic of the skies was more to my liking and I preferred to look at it always with a sense of wonder rather than know too much about the whys and wherefores of their movements. I enjoy knowing the constellations and the stories behind them - Orion, the hunter sits on the opposite side of the universe from Scorpio (my zodiac sign) because Scorpio bit him. Cassiopeia sits upside down for half of the year due to her vanity. Watching the zodiac constellations march across the heavens during the course of the year also gives me a feeling of connection to people from the past that used only the skies to maintain a sense of time and direction. This morning as I stood peering up into the skies I noted Venus which appears as the morning star at this time. Right nowaccording to the almanac, it is at its brightest that it has been for a while with a magnitude of -4.7. Not that this means too much to me. For me it is so bright that it almost looks like an incoming plane until you realize that it isn't blinking nor is it moving. Suspended in the sky, a planet not unlike the one that I stand on, yet so far away as to only appear as a brightly lit dot in the sky. Thoughts of the magnitude of space make me feel like a mere dust mote in the sunbeam of the universe. How small, how inconsequential am I in this time and space that I occupy. The thought is both alarming and soothing all at the same time. It helps to put into perspective the problems of the week, the animals that I haven't been able to cure, the people that I know that are in a state of distress, the seemingly endless number of questions with no answers. I look to the dark, star filled sky and it simply swallows all those concerns and more. I am not a very religious person. This is perhaps an understatement, but I do believe that there is something that binds us all together - each atom, each grain of sand, each leaf on every tree, each person, each planet and star. I stare up at the starry sky and feel connected in some small way to that infinity above me. I have never felt quite the same sense of profound awe in any cathedral, no matter how magnificent the masterpieces painted on the ceiling, and no wording in any religious text has been able to give me as much peace as the message of the quiet, constant light of a midwinter sky. So, this morning, as I walked back toward the dark, warm confines of the house, I paused and breathed in the crisp, star-filled air and let the peace and quiet fill my soul and felt the gentle roll of the earth through infinite space as measured by the stars.

A Breed Apart

No farm would be complete without a few farm cats around. I have quite a few. Occupational hazard as a small animal veterinarian....you accumulate all those that desperately need a home or face extinction. The one advantage I have, however, is the ability to be sure that they are all spayed and neutered and vaccinated for the worst of the cat viruses.

I have seen many farms (and grew up on one) that was not able to provide this service to the cats that came to stay. What would start out as one cat, would quickly turn into seven.....and then 49....and then...well, you get the picture until some horrible virus would sweep through the lot and kill off 90% of them. That was devastating as a kid. That is one of the many reasons that I became a vet - hard to look a dying, beloved kitten named Fred in the face and know that he is being killed by a completely preventable disease without making promises to devote your life to stamping out disease and illness.....and so, several years later and several thousands of dollars poorer, I take on the huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

I try to keep it within reason though. After a while it gets to be a little nuts when you can't make it from your car to the front door without tripping over three or four cats all winding around your legs and purring for affection.

The outdoor cats when I was a kid, were scrawny and wormy and scruffy looking. The ones that I have collected now are a beautiful clowder of cats thanks to a little help from modern medicine and good nutrition. Fed twice daily (or they wouldn't let you get a thing done outside) they are all hefty with thick coats in the winter. A few of them are the farm "Originals" - bred and raised here on the farm by a wayward cat named "Slinky" because she never did stay around - Festus, Abby and Shadow are from that original bunch.

Then there is Tigger. I came across him while working as a relief vet. He had been abandoned by his original owner at the clinic - left him to board and then never came back to get him. One of the techs tried to take him home but discovered that he peed on everything. So, Tigger spent approximately two years in a small 2 x 3 foot cage and would be at the clinic every time I came in. One day, I simply couldn't take it anymore and Tigger came home with me. He is every ounce the appreciative cat. He lives to be held and cuddled and will happily drool all over your lap while you hold him. I love to find him lounging among the flowers in the summer and curled up in the straw or hay in the winter. He ambles along with a shuffle that is similar to that of a raccoon, so he has, at times freaked me out in the dark of the night when I see him trotting up behind me.

Frodo found us. No idea where he came from but he was definitely a wild cat when he showed up. I enticed him with food for several days before I brought my net home from work and managed to catch him. He was promptly neutered and vaccinated before being released back into the wilds of our farm. Originally, my son named him "Mittens", but I simply couldn't humiliate the poor boy with that name and when I realized that he has a perfect white ring around the end of his tail, his name became obvious....Frodo- he carries the ring. It took Frodo a while to warm up to us, and I wasn't entirely sure that he would stick around, but then one day he inadvertently got close enough to pet and suddenly he realized what he had been missing all his life - affection! Now, he sees us coming and his tail will shoot straight up and he will run along side with his funny bunny hopping gait and then sidles up to us and flirts until he gets the attention that he seeks.

Raven is our two year old kitten. She is the boss of the lot and most of the other cats hate her. She is very food motivated and will strike fear into any that attempt to eat before she does. Her first winter on the farm she even took on our dog, Gina, a large Golden Retriever/Great Pyrenees mix. Suffice it to say that more blood was lost from Gina than from Raven. Her best, and only friend appears to be Tink. He is the new boy this year. One of a litter of strays that needed a home and after spending the requisite amount of time in my clinic where I completely fell in love with him, he was brought home to the farm. He is as crazy about food as Raven is. He, too, took on Gina over her food bowl and once again, Gina was the one to loose more blood through an impressive scratch to her nose.

What amazes me the most about these little cats is how tough and resilient they are. I always say that when the people of the world ruin it completely with our pollution and atomic bombs, there will be two things left - cockroaches.....and cats. Cats are obligate carnivores which means that they are best suited to getting their protein from meat. Plant material really doesn't do their system any good simply because they don't break it down well. This has never stopped a cat from trying however, and typically they do get a bit of plant material from the prey that they catch . Hungry cats are really not too picky about eating select parts of birds and beasts....they eat all the parts if they are hungry enough. And when they aren't hungry, they bring what's left as a gift for the people in their life that they love most.....never mind that we aren't really into the whole "headless mouse" thing.

Obligate carnivore aside, I have seen these farm cats eat everything from left over soggy cereal to ears of corn. They can be ravenous little animals. I have had visions of falling on my way to the barn and having them quickly devour me.

The biggest problem that we have on this farm is that the great majority of the cats are male. Now, no offense to males of any species, but male cats tend to be very lazy. Most of this crowd finds the warmest, sunniest spot to hang out for the day to wait for the food to be served in the evening. The girls tend to be the ones to take off hunting for a while. Abby was gone for about a month, we had given up on her coming home and then one night I looked down and there she was amid the mob as usual.

Farm cats will often disappear for days or even weeks at a time. You have to have a very relaxed relationship with farm cats because you just never know if it is an extended hunting trip that keeps them away, or if they have gone to the great cat beyond in some unfortunate accident on the road. There are nights when I will know that one or more of the cats didn't come home for dinner and then hear the coyotes off in the distance and I say a silent prayer to whatever god might protect wayward cats. It isn't that I don't love them and wouldn't like to protect them, but I have come to realize that they are a breed onto their own...wild, yet accommodating and affectionate when the mood strikes. I simply co-exist with them and appreciate them when they arrive. There should be more relationships like this in the world.

Sometimes it is nicer not knowing exactly what befalls them. We have found our share of them on the road after an unfortunate encounter with a car or truck. The sudden knowledge stabs right to your core as you realize that one of your friends has been run down. It doesn't matter that "it is only a cat" because to those of us that love them, they are family.

Occasionally, they simply disappear and we don't know where they go. I had a cat on the farm when I was going to vet school named Tanner - he was a big cream colored, bowlegged boy that had been there from the day we bought the farm. Two years into our stay on the farm, he disappeared sometime in early January. I missed him. Not that I depended upon him for anything, but I missed him trailing around after me while I was outside. Cats have a funny way of just wanting to be with you. They don't want to lick your face or play ball like a dog does, they just want to hang out. Generally, they hang out and sleep, but at least they are there for you.

This last fall I was digging potatoes and had to physically move two of them from their warm nests that they had claimed among my potato plants.

Anyway.....back to Tanner.....I was standing outside on sometime near the middle of April, and as I looked across the plowed field I noticed a cat trotting toward the house. He was big and cream colored,....and bowlegged just like.....Tanner! I called his name and the trotting cat broke into a run across the field. It was like The Incredible Journey with me falling to my knees and Tanner running to sit in my lap, purring as though he had never left. I have no idea where he was or what took him away, but I was glad he was home. Glad, and amazed, and awestruck! Four months he was gone! Where did he go and how did he get there? How did he know how to come home? The questions never have answers, they never tell their tales.

I am always sort of flattered that a farm cat would want to spend time with me. They are such amazing animals and I am often in awe of their abilities. They don't need us, they can take or leave humans, they have the ability to hunt and feed themselves easily and yet they seem to enjoy spending time with us. I have a hypothesis that they are as entertained by our crazy human antics as we are by their feline ones and we are both just waiting around to see what the other one might do next.