prepping for icemaggedon…

It’s the day before this polar vortex icemaggedon strikes.

Am I ready? As ready as a girl can get.

I’ve got pecan pie, coffee, popcorn, and a few beers and diet cokes - you know, the true snack necessities.

All the water troughs are filled and water heaters are in place to keep them from freezing (assuming I keep power). 

There’s firewood stacked and stored water set aside for coffee… and drinking. In that order. 

Anything shelf-stable that’s been sitting untouched in my cabinets for months or years has officially become my emergency stash. If it gets that bad, I’ll eat the cabinets clean and restock once the roads are passable again in a few days. Hard to say if that’s optimism, denial, or just ingenuity from being raised resourceful.

I’ve got eggs, cheese, and bacon, and I plan to make a batch of buttermilk biscuits tonight as well as cook the bacon ahead of time for quick, easy, delicious breakfasts. Wrap those babies in foil and heat them in my covered dutch oven on top of the wood stove - voilà. 

I’m honestly looking forward to being a pioneer diva and spoiling myself over the next few days - I’m not typically a breakfast gal unless it’s a special occasion like being stranded for days with no power…

I plan on working today and through tomorrow morning. The freezing rain is supposed to start around midday tomorrow, so the plan is to hunker down here on the farm with my dogs, the wood stove, and every conceivable way to make coffee in my french press. 

I’ve got options:

A power bank for the electric kettle.

A gas burner on the grill out back to boil water.

And if things get really hairy, I can boil some right on the wood stove like I’m living in an episode of Little House on the Prairie.

I’ll be parking all the vehicles in tree-free zones, because that’s really my only fear at this point and the one thing I have no control over. As long as a tree doesn’t fall on me or this little farmhouse, we should be just fine through all of this.

Part of me is a little giddy at the thought of being stuck here for several days, which is very possible. The temperatures aren’t forecast to climb above freezing until next Wednesday. That definitely puts a damper on the work I could be doing, but honestly, this stage of my life seems much more inclined toward accepting that I can’t be in charge of everything. 

I may have a few toddler-level tantrums, but they pass, and with no one here to witness them, I don’t even have to apologize. 

As I blog this morning, still in bed and under the heat of my electric blanket, I realize this may be the thing I’m the biggest baby about if the power goes out …not being able to turn the bed on and let it preheat before I crawl under the covers. I’m a wuss about being cold in bed. 

And maybe that’s the lesson tucked inside all of this: you prepare where you can, you let go where you can’t, and you understand that worrying won’t stop a tree from falling. The storm will do whatever it’s going to do. All I can do is keep the fire going, the animals fed, and myself entertained and if the power goes out, I’ll manage. I will probably find a way to enjoy it. I won’t have instant warmth under the covers, but I have so many creative things I can get into that don’t need power. Sewing by hand, taking photos, or I can organize the loft if I get really desperate for something to do. 

Are you ready? Do you have some activities planned that don’t require power? Are excited or anxious? I’m more excited to be honest. I’ll likely play dress up and make lots of ‘thrifted and gifted’ posts because what better way to span a little time when everything is iced over? 

Here are some photos from years past when I was stranded and without power due to snow or ice. Of course snow is much better than ice, but we shall see what happens. Reminding myself how much fun I can have when things are out of my control is one of my survival skills…

Stay warm out there, lovelies!! 

xo

-s

… before the storm

Ellen is the best little goat.

In the evenings, when the light starts to soften and the day loosens its grip just a little, I let her either play with Reece or roam freely while I do my chores. She listens so well and sticks close to me wherever I go. This evening, she was drawn to the freshly sprouted rye grass along the edge of the dirt road… that tender green buffet was calling her name. So instead of hurrying her away, I walked beside her and let her taste something she clearly wanted.

As she grazed, she stood there in the golden hour, alert, her fluffy little body lit up by the last of the sun. No rush. No fear. Just a quiet moment. She’d probably been eyeing that grass for a while, and now she was finally getting to indulge. Watching her, I felt how that calm posture mirrored what I’ve been doing here and the life I’ve built. Slower now. Intentional. Rooted. A life that doesn’t need to prove itself to anyone.

Not everything has been without its rattles, though. Between yesterday and today, my well stopped working, and the panic came quick and sharp. Anyone who lives like this (on land, well providing your water, etc.) knows that kind of worry hits fast. My mom came out yesterday to offer her help, but instead I chose to show her how I could throw a tantrum inside the tiny well house, which shockingly (!!!) did not fix anything. This morning I finally caved and called the well company, and they had me back up and running in less than thirty minutes.

I’ve been preparing, little by little, for the ice storm that may come - hauling hay, stacking wood, checking troughs, dragging the pastures. I’ve spent long hours outside these past few days, moving purposefully, making sure every critter is settled and safe. I sleep better knowing I’ve done all I can to prepare this place for whatever comes.

There is something gratifying about tending to what you love before trouble arrives.

In walking a goat down a dirt road at sunset so she can have a special treat.

In trusting moments like this.

I don’t know if I’m prepared enough for an ice storm that could cripple a lot of folks, but as long as the house holds, I’ll be warm by the wood stove, there will be music, backup power for wifi (blogging) and enough food for me and the animals, and we’ll wait it out here until it’s safe to leave the farm again.

xo

-s

cold morning notes…

Good morning. It’s cold.

Poptart is snoozing hard, she was wedged up against my feet for warmth until I gently betrayed her for a photo. It’s that kind of cold. Cold enough that the prison is keeping the dogs indoors today, so no training for me. A winter storm is on its way this weekend, which means the next few days will be about catching up and getting ready.

I’ll admit I’ve put a few things off. One week it’s seventy degrees, the next it’s thirty, and the nights have been hovering in the twenties. That kind of weather has a way of justifying procrastination, ya know, no immediate threat, making it feel reasonable to put off. Until now.

I’ll be heading out shortly to see if the guy I bought seasoned firewood from last time has any left. Ice is in the forecast, and if the power goes out, I’ll be burning more wood than usual. Thankfully, my brother gave me an excellent battery generator for Christmas - enough to keep the internet, TV, and fridge going for a few days. Small comforts, big relief.

Living on a well means a little extra planning, so I’ll be making sure the animals’ troughs are full and that I’ve got plenty of stored water set aside. I’ve also got a gas grill and a propane burner on the back porch, ready for cooking and boiling water for coffee - priorities clearly in order.

Later this evening, I’ll make a store run for some shelf-stable comfort foods, just in case. And before the weather moves in, I’ll drag the horse pasture. It’s been long overdue, and if we get snow instead of ice, it might even make for a prettier scene out here. Practical chores, but with an eye toward beauty. Yeah, that feels about right.

For now, it’s coffee, a quiet house, and one very warm Poptart who has reclaimed her blanket.

xo

-s

 

… almost eleven years …

Yesterday evening, while making my usual rounds feeding the animals, I was on my second trip to the horse pasture when one of those grief waves came over me. You know the kind that folks say ‘come in waves’ after you think you are ok. I have them occasionally - mostly when I hear a certain song, or a familiar scent blows by in a breeze, or I catch a glimpse of a man with his style - a fedora and printed button-down shirt…

I had just thrown down hay for Rose and Buddy, and Rose stood there in the field looking at me, backlit in red and orange and gold. I walked over and wrapped my arms around her thick neck. She’s a big baby - sometimes dramatic, sometimes super calm. But yesterday she rested her head on my shoulder and didn’t move. I could feel her warmth. Hear her breath. And suddenly I was crying - really bawling - and talking to her through all of it.

“I can’t believe it’s been almost eleven years.”

I thought about how much my dad loved her. I thought about the scared girl I was when I was suddenly forced into being her caretaker after he died. The things I learned about my dad after he died - things I’d try with her and things she already knew - things he did with her. And in that moment, maybe for the first time, I felt something so deep. I felt sad that she didn’t understand why he never came back. Sad that I was so afraid of her then that I couldn’t soothe her confusion or her grief. Sad that she had to endure so much confusing change without a person who knew how to help her through it. But also knowing I did the best I could with what I had.

And then, when she finally found her best friend, Hazel, she had to endure another loss when Hazel died. I mean, she loves Buddy, but Rose was inseparable from Hazel, and that loss hit everyone here hard.  

I wondered if she thinks of my dad. If she remembers him sweet-talking her, brushing her mane, the sound of his voice…

I let all of it come - the tears, the remembering, the ache.

And Rose just stood there, her big beautiful head resting on my shoulder, breathing with me, almost like we were both having the same moment.

For the most part, life on this farm is joyful these days - dogs underfoot or claiming hammocks, projects in progress, laughter and movement and reflection and growth. Sometimes I feel like it’s too good to be true. But every once in a while, a memory slips in quietly and reminds me that I’m still human, capable of ugly-crying into a horse’s fluffy winter coat, and that’s ok... 

x

-s