I started to compose a piffling ode - type thank you blog to our dearly departed Republic of Turkey today , but then I remembered the looks on our guests ’ face when I begin reminisce about the turkeys in their live state during Thanksgiving dinner last year . Let ’s just say , it may have put a damper on peoples ’ appetency , and since I want you , if you ’re celebrating Thanksgiving , to enjoy your delicious dinner party — no matter what or who you ’re eating — I’ll just contain off on that theme until next week .
So … what now ?
Well , thanks to an early - season Baron Snow of Leicester violent storm , our farm has been quilted with nearly 12 inch of snow and utterly transformed from the soggy , muddy raft it was just a few days ago . I jazz — though adorable , snow can be a total pain , as I rediscovered this morning while slug and slipping around to feed creature , haul hot H2O bucket and blow on latches to free them . But C is such a rarefied matter here in the Puget Sound neighborhood that I ca n’t help feel entirely enchanted today . And also oddly free and relaxed — like a kid who just wake up up to disclose schooltime had called a Charles Percy Snow 24-hour interval ( which , by the path , schools here will do at the cliff of a snowflake ; we ’re complete snow wimps ) .
So this good afternoon I declare a snow break from writing , clump up , clicked into my cross - country skis and lead out into the brilliant , crisp new creation to savor it before it melts aside in the next rain . With our Coonhound , Pippin , trotting along beside me ( and sometimes take after behind me and stepping on my skis ) , I shush and looped around our pastures as the horses ascertain and the sun shone coldly and little shine falls of nose candy cascade off the fir .
I did n’t get much of a physical exercise ( we only have five acres , after all ) and it was just too tempting to keep block up so I could wonder at the snow ’s magical powers of transformation . How it lightly shine over our farm ’s many imperfections ( a broken fence here , a tidy sum of old timber there ) and turned our woodlot into an impressionist ’s gold - and - drab - dappled work of art . The way of life it hang on the alder trees with tiny dripping ice diamond and made the sky count that peculiar , wintry tone of blue I love .
I did n’t want to stop and go back inside , but then one ski hit a boggy spot and iced up enough it would n’t glide anymore , and I guess I ’d better start writing this blog . So … here I am .
wish you and your folk a beautiful Thanksgiving !
~ Cherie
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