Silent Snow

I haven't blogged in a year. On that note, I'm not sure I have ever used "blog" as a verb in any tense. However, as I sit on this Saturday morning in my crushed velvet rocking chair with my coffee on hand, various members of my animal family curled or sprawled sleeping in carefully chosen spots around my bedroom, and my feet up on the chilly windowsill with a perfect view of my white winter farm and colorfully blanketed horses enjoying breakfast hay as a light snow falls, the spirit moved me. I have taken to writing in a real journal again for 2011 as opposed to a virtual one. There is something seductive about a colorful book bound only by an elastic strap with fine lined pages and a new ball-point pen. There is also something seductive about imagining that somebody out there in the web wide world might just read the virtual stuff, might just, you know, offer a book deal! Doesn't that happen every other day? Or a blog deal, or something like that. And so, today, the computer wins. The man formerly known as TT (time and talent) is now my DH (dear husband) and he crawled out of bed even earlier than we do every weekday for horse care to follow the siren song of standing on a frozen lake in the company of beer-drinking men friends. He so rarely takes time for himself and for male bonding and such that I am happy he is out there with the shiners, suckers, and smelts today. That doesn't mean that I don't also miss him. I am awfully accustomed to sharing weekend mornings and evenings and starting our days, every day, with an hour of NPR, feeding and liberating our herd for the day, and cleaning up after them leaving the barn tidy and prepared for evening. An easily measurable daily task. A ritual of renewal - our own type of sun salutation I suppose. It is a wonderful routine. Doing it solo is nice, too, though the extra time needs to be accounted for and sometimes is not. Today I listened solo to the tales of Mubarak and Egyptian uprising in the streets and the nearly immediate governmental crackdown on communication to try to stem the tide by disabling the internet and cell phone communication. Maybe that is what inspired this electronic private/public share today that maybe somebody or maybe nobody will ever read. The knowledge that I CAN communicate in this fashion. I think we are so spoiled to our instant knowledge and connection that it boggles my mind that it could be shut down overnight by an authoritarian government. My god, I love my farm and my husband and family, my friends, my legal career, and my Maine. This silent snowy morning of utter peacefulness and plenty, of horses, pets, good coffee and fresh breakfast, of reading, writing, and reflection are tremendous gifts that are not lost on me. And this little post is my tribute to that. Thank you thank you to the powers that be. Until next time, Farm Girl.
P.S. And yes, perhaps next time there will be a touch more humor and less sap which is what I normally go for in this medium. I can tell tales of winter travails at the otherwise peaceful farm like 1 a.m. escaping horses trying to come into our house on the coldest, -20, night of the year! But that's for another time. I have to teach a snowy lesson soon.