Dogs in the cold

  January 16, 2009 – It is – 20 degrees outside, on my thermometer. The donkeys are in the barn. Various water pipes froze and burst, and the cold seemed to change the very nature of matter. I spent a lot of good time outside taking photos. My hands are too cracked and cold to write much today. Vaseline and bandaids, I’m told.
  Karen sent me a wonderful note from her farm, writing of the crippling cold. Boring chores take at least three times longer to do. The cold is draining, tiring. Her  donkeys, like mine, are bored and annoyed at being confined to the barn, and chew and make mischief there. The giant wood pile at her farmhouse and mine are nearly depleted, and it is tough to get trucks near through the snow and ice. A writer like  me, she sits at the computer, gets up, stares at the screen. Writing comes hard. The cold is something that is distracting, and you feel it all of the time when it is like this, no matter where you are. You never really get warm, just less cold.
  It can be discouraging. But I did write things, I talked to my agent, I plotted my novel, I took good photos (you really pay for photos in this weather, each one) I had dinner with good friends, I made sure all of the animals were fed, grained and had shelter. Otherwise, wait it out and imagine Spring. It will be especially sweet this year.
  I turned on the TV briefly and laughed at the hysteria and gloom and alarm and thought of my friend Carr, the farmer, who reminds me daily that before the media reported on it daily, it was just a cold day and nobody thought much about it.
  It was, on balance, a good day. I’m locking in on those shadows in the snow photos. I’ll try it again tomorrow. Thanks Karen, hang in there. Spring is next up.