What 2 feet of snow means on the farm.
The homesteader doesn’t always get to choose their day. A few times each week (I’m rounding, here) the farm chooses our day for us. There’s part of this uncertainty and unexpected that works in our favor: for example, when the dairy cow decides to have her calf, that’s a very welcomed and exciting surprise! It also means I will cancel my coffee date with a girlfriend or a meeting I had planned with my assistant.
The homestead chose my day.
The same thing happened this past summer when we suffered (yes, I’m using that word on purpose) under 117 degree temperatures. In fact, we had such a hot summer we ended up with a 90 day stretch of over 90 degree temperatures. FOR NINETY DAYS WE MAXED OUT AT OVER 90 DEGREES. I’m using all caps so that you, too, can share in my shock of such weather. It gets hot here in the high desert of Central Washington, but even that is pretty dang hot for our area. And it went on, and on, and on. And I sweated A LOT. And I'm not a very glamorous sweater.
Those hot days meant we had to water and shade and constantly fuss over all the creatures and plants that were relying on us for survival - especially if we were hoping to harvest any of them. In the end, we only lost one very old chicken to the heat and some had burned peppers and nasturtiums - so a pretty good heat stretch all in all.
Yesterday was a bit different.
I’ve told my southern-husband about my memories of growing up here as a kid. I remember distinctly my Dad shoveling show off of our garage room after it reached over 3 feet deep. He shoveled it all into a huge pile and then let us slide off the garage roof onto the pile (safety standards were slightly different in the 90’s… as were many things). It’s a story I've told my kids that has gotten chalked up to being an old tale. There wasn’t any proof in the pudding, as they say.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday we woke up to find over 2 feet (28 inches, last we measured) of accumulated snow fall. The most we’ve gotten in a single night in a long, long while.
Not sure what 2 feet of snow looks like? Let me show you!
It’s painfully beautiful. If you catch it at the right time of day, the snow sparkles as bright as glitter when you walk in it. In fact, it was so smooth and so deep and so light my mind almost played tricks on me - assuring me I was in warm sand rather than mountain snow.
Many of you know how much I have struggled with winter in the past. Truth be told, I don’t think it was actually winter’s fault. It was mine. I have so failed to see the magic of this season - I’ve been so eager to build and garden and develop our small farm that I resented the fact that winter forced me to stop and sit still. It was like pushing through the entire week and then being unwilling to take a Sabbath rest. A rest that was given to us for our good. A gift, really. When the world stops, the ground waters refill, the plants rest in preparation for spring. If you’re like me and tend to favor work over pleasure, let me assure you: winter was made for us.
What an idiot I’ve been to reject that.
Anyway. Back to the 2 feet of snow. Yes, it’s beautiful. And yes, it’s magical. And yes, actually, it is quite dangerous if not managed correctly.
What this means for the homesteader is a lot of shoveling.
Animals need pathways to reach the water tanks and pathways to reach their feed.
Shelters need to be filled with fresh, dry bedding.
Shelters and greenhouses need to have the snow removed off their roof.
Shelters are certainly made to carry a weight, but not this much. And when the forecast projects freezing rain to follow said-snow, the result is heavy, wet snow that can easily collapse a building. In fact, a local farm had that exact event happen - their horse and goat barn collapsed in. A crew of volunteers was anxiously digging it out to try and get to the animals inside. Another farm lost their greenhouse in a collapse.
Snow can become very, very heavy.
What that meant for our day was a complete schedule shift. One must simply be willing to take the unexpected when it comes to owning a small homestead, whether that comes in the form of an escaped pig or a hail storm. Our day was spent clearing the snow off the milking stanchion, the animal pen, the pergola, the shop roof, the greenhouse, and a few of my large junipers (again, the weight of the snow can easily snap large branches off if not removed).
I know all you southerners are like “Why the heck would you live where you have to do all that work!” but then I’m like “Well, we don’t have tornadoes or hurricanes.” We all have our hard. And growing up with it, I’m used to snow. I’ve made my peace with it.
When I lived in Alabama for a short-while and we had a hurricane come through, I all but wet myself. It’s funny how we adjust so deeply to what we know.
Just for fun, and to mark this special snow day, I wanted to show you images comparing winter/summer. Creation groans of its Creator. In fact, in the middle of shoveling snow yesterday, I actually spoke up to the heavens: My God, you are an incredible artist!
We'll be back to the gardens soon enough. I'm sure plenty of weed seeds are waiting for me. In the meanwhile, we're sore to the bone from shoveling and cozied up by the fire.
I hope your winter is just as beautiful!