I can’t say we weren’t affected by the near-hysterical excitement of this cold wave by the weather channels and cable news. Last night was the coldest night I can remember experiencing; this morning was not much better. But we got through it, and so did our animals. I went out briefly to take a photo,  my fingers are still stiff.

This is why we love being up here; you can’t just watch life rush by on a screen; you have to live it. We had to move downstairs to sleep, it was 20 degrees below zero, and the wind was steady and bitter. Old farmhouses do not generally have the best insulation; the cold drove us from the bedroom, and we slept downstairs by the fires.

We kept telling one another that this is how they did it when the house was built, hundreds of years ago.

Living here brings us close to nature and life. We checked on the animals, distributed hay and straw, and ensured our sick sheep/ Biddie had plenty of grass and warm water to drink. We also gave her some grain. She’s much better.

 

This morning they all had frozen whiskers on their noses and snouts from breathing in that kind of cold. I lived in cities and a few suburbs for most of my life. I needed to get closer to nature, more than I knew, which is one of the reasons I came here to live. I’m not going to do that in an RV in North Carolina.

I loved being alone in storms and bitter cold when I moved to the first Bedlam Farm; I didn’t know at first that I had come home, in ways I may never understand.

Now, I can’t do many of the things I did then. Maria can. I very much loved that kind of outside work and nature connection. I could never live in a suburb again or sail off to a condo in a warm place. I need to be in nature for as long as possible, and even beyond.

I need to have animals to steward and care for.

The cold isn’t just something tracked on my weather app; it’s something that makes me feel alive. Maria feels the same way; our life is not dramatic but exciting. That is something we love about it. That is something we have always shared. Last night was memorable.

I talked to my daughter who lives in Brooklyn, and she said it was cold but didn’t really affect their lives much. I thought the cold really affects mine. One isn’t better than the other, but this is the place I was meant to be.

As I get older, these mega-storms and arctic cold bombs make me more anxious. But I always remember why I came here first, and I feel nothing but grateful. I know I am lucky to be married to a strong woman who loves physical work, challenges, and nature.

This morning, when she set out to walk in -30 wind chill weather, she could not have been happier or more excited.

We know the drill now.

Our wood stoves performed heroically, but we did have to turn the oil heat on for much of the night. That is very rare. We’ll need it today.

Bud, he is no fool; he’s staying close to the fire.

I was banned from going outside, but when Maria was showering, I ran out quickly in my nightshirt and took a picture. I got busted, and Maria got a picture of me outside with her camera (see below). I don’t think I can fool her; I never can. She knows I must get an outside photo in the morning, or I can’t rest.

Part of the wonder of living in nature is our strong sense of stewardship. We love our animals and think daily about how to care for them, to help them through nights like last night.

That responsibility makes our lives here precious. It is immensely satisfying. Sitting freezing downstairs the previous night as the wind blew this cold into the house, we both agreed we would not wish to be elsewhere.

This is where we belong. This is our life.

Our best idea of the week has been to sprinkle hay all over the pasture; grazing makes them feel comfortable and safe.

The pale blue sky captures the sense of cold and emptiness. Cold weather like this changes the very nature of our universe.

Sleeping downstairs was the first thing I saw this morning, and it was beautiful. The sun rising and shining through the fristed window in the loving room. Cold can be very beautiful.

This afternoon, I’m going to read and read and sleep and sleep. I really shouldn’t go outside in this.  More later.