People think we live in the country. To me that implies farmland, barns, field crops and livestock, which is in mighty short supply around here.
I call it the Woods, the Bush, the Mountain, names like that. Everybody has a house, workshop, and tractor or bulldozer, quad or snowmobile. Many have horses.
Lots of trees, hills and rock. No topsoil.
But I’m working on that.
No right now, obviously. It’s a process. I will write more about that another time.
Right now it’s winter so I take a break. Chores are easier (when the water hose isn’t frozen), everything’s simpler.
The animals all stay in their pens and we throw them hay.
I’m enjoying it as much as I can, because I know spring is around the corner, and with it comes the urge to be outside and rake every patch of dirt in sight and wheelbarrow compost to the far reaches of the yard.
I’m not too worried about the lingering extra pounds from Christmas. They’ll be gone with the snow with no purposeful effort on my part.
Such is life on a farm. The dirt hibernates, and so do we.
I like it that way.