This morning, we got the storm that was promised all winter but never quite came. We got a big snowstorm, six to eight inches, 10 and 12 in spots.

Maria and I went out early to shovel snow and clean off the cars. We have this system down.

Our power and friend Mike Coughlin came and plowed the driveway.

The roads are already cleared, and so is our driveway. We are doing much better than those poor people in the California mountains and the deep South.

First, we shovel paths to the pasture and the feeders, the mailbox and garbage cans, the bird feeder, and the roost.

We are not having good luck with our new snow blower. Maria wants to sell it; I think it’s a good idea.

I think it was made for sidewalks, not bumpy dirt paths.

We know how to deal with big snowstorms up here. When I bought the first Bedlam Farm, there was a blizzard or two every week for months in the winter. Last night’s storm didn’t count as a blizzard; more like a pretty show by Mother Nature. It was a “March Storm,” and it will be done in a few days.

We can take the cars out if we wish, but I think we don’t. We’re hunkering down. We are born worn out from all the shoveling and brushing, and we are delighted sitting in front of the fire, reading, listening to music, and talking.

I got out and marched around, taking photos for as long as I could walk in deep snow. I did all right, but enough was enough. Photos below.

The donkeys are savvy and wait inside the pole barn until the hay is out in the feeders. Then they come out and nudge the sheep out of their way.

The snow dog wants to be out in the pasture running with Fate, but Fate deserves a chance to run today without being pestered. I love the studio in the background; the yellow is a beacon in the snow.

I brightened up the yellow a bit in Lightroom.

 

 

The sheep and donkeys were hungry this morning; they’d been holed up on the Pole Barn all night – it was scorched. They seem puzzled when there is a lot of snow on the ground, they can’t figure out how to graze. The hens stayed in their roost.

 

I made it out to the woods in my Amish-size boots; it was enchanting in there, this is my path in the winter for my photography. The trees are alive, I am learning how to listen to them..

 

Down the road, two pines embraced a snow-covered house. This is how the world here looks today.

Maria had to shovel out the feeders; they were invisible in the snow.

The limb will be missed when it’s gone; it defines the snow. It’s a kind of sculpture.

The storm brought new dimensions to the Winter Pasture and my daily landscape picture. No blue sky today, but a beautiful snow.