Hoarfrost and Teething

  

  

I realized as I was starting this blog post that many of the pictures appear to be in black and white.  They're not.  That's just how gray it is here.  Gray and cold and sleeping.  

We woke yesterday morning to hoarfrost that has not yet vanished because it hasn't gotten above freezing (why does the word hoarfrost always remind me of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows?  Is there a reason or is it just a strange association? I realized after posting that it's because of the similarity the word has to "horcrux").  Each branch and twig and tuft of weed stands out in stark white crystalline form against the gray sky and it really is breathtaking.  Like looking at an incredible silhouette of creation in panoramic view. Our Gideon pup enjoys it also, galloping along, kicking up crystals as he darts into the brush in search of some rodent and darting back to my side at my whistle, tongue flying, eyes alight with joy.  Our brittle-dry Christmas tree looks like one of those fancy flocked trees you can find at nurseries as it lays lonesome in the garden, like it's making one last ditch effort to convince me to let it come back in the cozy house.  It is hard, in the winter, to recall the simmering days of summer when clean laundry drys in a breath on the now-frosty line.

There are sheep down the way but the cows are gone now.  I was surprised to see a lamb cuddled in with the herd, adorable bundle of fleece that it is.  I only expect to see baby livestock in the spring but that must be a misconception on my part. I still wish we could have a goat or two but now is just not the time and I am good with that when I imagine trying to find time to milk morning and evening.  Maybe someday, maybe when little ones are big enough to learn to milk too, but for now it is not something I want to add to my own work load.  We will be incubating eggs sometime soon, since our flock of 10 hens + 1 rooster is only giving about a dozen a week and that is really not enough considering all the feed they plow through. 

Rosie is teething miserably... oh so miserably.  My cheerful, easy-going little doll has melted into a clingy, teary, runny, drooly, whimpering, sleepless, restless mess. She just learned how to cry "Mamamammama," which for her is convenient timing, since, how can I resist my name so mournfully intoned?   I can't help but stop everything and catch her up for some comfort against my shoulder. We will tough this out together, and I know it will soon pass and we will both sleep again in the great Someday.