Cherie Langlois
November 24, 2010

Snow and horse
Photo by Cherie Langlois
An early snow storm turned our farm into a winter wonderland.

I started to write a little ode-type thank you blog to our dearly departed turkeys today, but then I remembered the looks on our guests’ faces when I began reminiscing about the turkeys in their living state during Thanksgiving dinner last year. Let’s just say, it may have put a damper on peoples’ appetites, and since I want you, if you’re celebrating Thanksgiving, to enjoy your delicious dinner—no matter what or who you’re eating—I’ll just hold off on that topic until next week.

So … what now?  

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Well, thanks to an early-season snow storm, our farm has been quilted with nearly 12 inches of snow and utterly transformed from the soggy, muddy mess it was just a few days ago. I know—though lovely, snow can be a total pain, as I rediscovered this morning while slogging and slipping around to feed animals, haul hot water buckets and blow on latches to unfreeze them. But snow is such a rare thing here in the Puget Sound region that I can’t help feeling completely enchanted today. And also oddly free and relaxed—like a kid who just woke up to discover school had called a snow day (which, by the way, schools here will do at the drop of a snowflake; we’re complete snow wimps). 

So this afternoon I declared a snow break from writing, bundled up, clicked into my cross-country skis and headed out into the bright, crisp new world to savor it before it melts away in the next rain. With our Coonhound, Pippin, trotting along beside me (and sometimes following behind me and stepping on my skis), I shushed and looped around our pastures as the horses watched and the sun shone coldly and little glittering waterfalls of snow cascaded off the firs.

I didn’t get much of a workout (we only have five acres, after all) and it was just too tempting to keep stopping so I could marvel at the snow’s magical powers of transformation. How it softly smoothed over our farm’s many imperfections (a broken fence here, a pile of old lumber there) and turned our woodlot into an impressionist’s gold-and-blue-dappled work of art. The way it hung on the alder trees with tiny dripping ice diamonds and made the sky look that special, wintry shade of blue I love. 

I didn’t want to stop and go back inside, but then one ski hit a boggy spot and iced up enough it wouldn’t glide anymore, and I thought I’d better start writing this blog. So … here I am.  

Wishing you and your family a beautiful Thanksgiving!

~ Cherie   

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