Meet the first barn cat we have ever had that loves to be in the snow.

It figures. Zip is always where the action is.

He rushed out for our morning meeting even though I was clad in a new bathrobe – no more naked photos; the bathrobe is on a hook by the door, and I can grab it when I come downstairs and see the sun (or the snow) outside.

I have to move fast to get the right photos; I often don’t have time to shower or dress. Maria was out filming her Monday morning video (See below), which captured my first appearance outside in the new robe (thanks, L.L. Bean).

It will snow until noon, but it isn’t the big deal that was predicted, at least around here. Zip surprised me yet again. We’ve never had a barn cat who wanted to be outside in the snow; Zip didn’t blink.

He was right on time for our morning meeting. He’s a fantastic creature, that cat; he is whip-smart, affectionate, and very savvy.

He never goes near the road. He has all kinds of hiding and resting places in the barn, the woodshed, and the front porch. Predators don’t go near any of those places.

Today ends the naked sunrise photo era. I got a nice robe. Check out Maria’s video below.

We seem to have a snowcat, the first barn cat who loves being out in the snow.

The video above is Maria’s excellent and increasingly popular Monday Morning Video series, which I will post here with her permission on Monday mornings. They offer an excellent and rich sense of daily life on our planet, as well as Maria’s passion for our animals and seeing the parts of nature nobody else seems to notice.  Her “Notes From The Woods” reminds me of Thomas Merson sitting outside and looking at nature in his Hermitage.

They are about life and wonder; they are a unique and uplifting way to begin the week. Maria sees everything, and this reminds me to keep my eyes and soul open and avoid being sucked into the morass.

A landmark day for me. No more naked picture-taking, and the Winter Pasture is here.

The Amish Miller family is often on the new property they bought across from the road, and the girls don’t need to see me marching around naked at sunrise.

They are all up well before that, so it’s something to consider. We are good neighbors to one another; it’s time for a soft bathrobe. I hardly ever get cold outside, even when walking naked. In all this time, only one person, an elderly woman, was outraged by the very idea that I went outside naked. (Maria says I look like a Sasquatch, only bald.)

“It’s disgusting,” the woman said, “you should be ashamed of yourself.” I wasn’t, to be honest. Like the old mail deliverers, I always delivered rain or snow if I felt good and brave. The morning sun is gorgeous here on the farm. My horrified reader is probably gone now, but she might have liked the bathrobe.

I’m never giving up on the sunrise light; no shame for me. I wasn’t insulted, and unhappy readers are welcome on my blog. It isn’t necessary to love or even like me to be civil and respectful. That’s all I ask.  I’m not sure I would like to see myself naked and walking around the farm, either. It sounds old farty to me, but I have always believed in manners; good manners are how we interact with one another. Manners matter.

I ordered the new bathrobe from L.L. Bean, and it’s warm and comfortable. It made its debut appearance this morning.  I call it my emergency bathrobe because I only use it when there is some beautiful photo to catch, and I would lose it if I waited. To me, that’s an emergency.

I walked right into Maria’s video in my new robe, and she jumped right on it, the savvy blogger that she is. Zip seemed to get the idea; he came rushing toward me at the end of the video, and we had our morning meeting dressed oddly and in the usual place. I assumed we wouldn’t see Zip today. Even the hens stay in the roost when it’s snowing.

Come and see. The snow didn’t bother Zip in the least. We met at our usual place at the usual time.

Two people wrote to me this morning they wished to express concern about predators eating Zip one night. They weren’t nasty, just horrified. People love Zip.

“Are there any predators on your farm?” one asked, concerned. “Have you thought about that?”  I explained to her that worrying about Zip was my job and Maria’s, and we were good at it. Of course, there are predators in and around our farm.  It’s not New Jersey.

I love Zip, but he is a barn cat, and there are risks. There are also risks from driving at night, shopping at Walmart, or driving to the grocery store. There are risks from living on a farm for Maria, Zip, and me.  There are risks to all living things.

We aren’t going to fall prisoner to that.

This is the country where predators- they also need to eat – aren’t impressed by “don’t disturb” signs. Zip is pretty savvy. He’s the first cat I’ve ever had that came out in the snow. He knows how to take care of himself. And no, he’s not coming into the house until he’s too old to run or stay warm. I expect to be gone by then.

Zip is always happy to be scratched, hugged, and kissed. He has a great squishy face, says Maria. Of course, she also says that about me. Hmmmm…

St. Jo, as we call him, adds grace and a spiritual flavor to the Winter Pasture.

The Winter Pasture Is Here, and hauntingly beautiful.

 

Zip liked it up there; he sat while it snowed and looked over the fields. A good barn cat, he has no issues with the snow.

 

Eating their hay in the snow. The animals eat and retreat to the pole barn, where it is dry and sheltered from the rain and the wind.

 

Ed Gulley’s Tin Man seems at ease, doing his job guarding the garden beds for the winter. Hey Ed, I  miss you. You were a wonderful friend to us.