I got a message from a reader asking if we panic in the country when a big storm is approaching and run to the store for milk and bread. This reminded me of my prior life in New York City and New Jersey (or Baltimore and Philadelphia and Washington, where that is just what other parents and I did – flock to the grocery store as if access to food would suddenly disappear).

We don’t do that up here.

The farmers don’t need the normally hysterical Weather Channel to tell them the weather. They look outside. Living in Upstate New York, a heavy storm is nothing to panic about; it’s just another winter day.

Here, we can plow roads, haul out generators, fill up animal water tanks, clear off the front and back porches, move the hay feeders, stockpile some water in the bathtub, and dig out the mailbox. I love taking pictures of the winter pasture; I’ll give the monochrome a test and a workout.

Our generator can run almost all the electric devices we need, including the water pump, refrigerator, cable lines, stove, and lamps. We don’t drink milk and have plenty of bread in the freezer. Nothing is cozier than sitting in front of a wood stove – we need very little heat – while a storm rages outside.

We dump hay into the pole barn, and the animals can care for themselves until the snow stops. We don’t name our storms; we call them storms.

First, Maria went out to the barn to bring the shovels onto the porch. Mike is our snow plow person; he comes early and clears the cars. This morning, I’m heading to the Mansion for a Meditation Class. More later.