For the past week or so, it has been more than somewhat chilly. The wet sort of frost that digs into the bones and, despite the fact a person is wearing two sweaters, gloves and a scarf, makes that person’s fingers feel as if they are going to break off has been visiting. Actually, it was mostly sunny while frozen, but when a person is trying to feed the aged rescue horse her wet alfalfa pellets and those pellets have frozen over night, it’s not the sort of sunny which makes a person eager to jump out of bed. The hose inside the barn has frozen, so I have to carry the bucket over by the garage to the hand pump to fill the bucket for the horse’s evening mash.
Then again, the fields in the frost are beautiful to look at, which anyone who has ever looked at a frosty field could tell you. Today, the weather jumped into a different sort of place. A place filled with so much rain in a minute that the gutters overflowed and the waterfall edge might have been stylish if it were the intended function of the gutters. The chickens hate the rain more than the cold. In the cold sunshine, there are still bugs to be found when the ground thaws around mid-day. In the rain, the chickens hide under the porch and are not amused by anything.
Today, I am grateful I am not a chicken. I am very fond of the chickens. I have pet names for them, feed them special seeds, and greatly enjoy their eggs, but I am glad I do not have to spend rainy days under the porch. I would not mind if someone had pet names for me and fed me special seeds, but that’s a post of a different sort.