Dinner tonight was, well, hardly. We ate a lot of cookies first. Then Renee did do a bang up job on some devilled eggs (twenty-four to be precise). And we had all eaten some of Alex's cabbage potato stew earlier, for a perfect late-afternoon-early-dinner. So there was plenty to eat, but we didn't all sit down and eat together, which is our daily ritual. In fact, we usually sing the Johnny Appleseed song before eating. But it seems in the dark of winter these rituals can fall by the wayside. I've theorized that this is the entire reason for Christmas--rituals that hold us together in the dark time of the year, thus keeping us from sinking into depression. Regardless of ritual, we ate, and we are happy.

The chickens are also happy, and the goats are restless. I've been daydreaming about a real barn. One building for all my animals. Then I would get angora rabbits, and maybe even a miniature Jersey milk cow. I'd definitely prefer a cow over goats, certainly for the whole butter thing (goat butter is possible, but complicated I've read), but also because I am a Taurus, through and through.

I was thinking about my astrological nature today as I freed the wood pile from the ice and snow. It was a job that needed to be done--our woodshed is getting low, and this wood that was delivered a few days before the snowstorm needed to get stacked and in the dry. Not that the ice is going to melt anytime soon. Just that the wood needed to be in the dry and near the house. Normally I leave such tasks to my teenagers, but there seemed to be a sense of urgency to this task, and urgency gets my Taurus energy in gear. I grabbed a shovel and scraped off ice and snow and pried pieces of wood out of the ice. Then I threw them across the way for Bert to put them on a sled and pull them up to the house. It was satisfying work, and I'll be pleasantly sore in the morning.

I also managed to get up to the studio for an hour or so this afternoon. I was inspired to do so after reading about the artist Gabriel Shaffer, who has an opening at the Blue Spiral Gallery in downtown Asheville tomorrow (Hmmm, maybe I should go?). I particularly liked this from the bio on his webpage:

Gabriel Shaffer is that rare artist who fiercely explores his own vision and refuses any easier life as a compromise. Gabriel’s talents are born out of an endless reservoir of ideas and a necessity to share what he cannot control. He has no choice but to paint, and generously offers his viewers realms beyond immediate understanding.

By the way, check out his website, and this article about his work is also interesting.

As I walked the slightly treacherous path to my studio (the boys have been sledding down the hill, so getting up it requires paying close attention to each foothold), I thought about the phrase "he has no choice but to paint." I thought about my own creativity, and how I have often enough sabotaged myself. Opening the door to my studio, I decided that being a mother makes the pursuit of other things more difficult, which is alright, but no excuse.

The studio was delightfully warm, a surprise, since I'd turned the heat on, but only to fifty degrees. Fifty keeps things warm enough without sucking up fuel. The kerosene has to be hauled up the hill, which is a total pain, so conservation has many benefits. Everything is massively cluttered right now (I'd take a picture but it would be embarrassing). But I'm very close to having my shelves painted and ready for stuff, at which point we can lay down the flooring and really start to tie up the loose ends on the building.

I sat down, turned on my Radiolab podcast (which is, as usual, worthy of an entire post), and set to work. It was delightful. I think I'll do it again tomorrow.

The free-range chickens are no more. We lost three in as many days, and first blamed it on Alex’s new puppy, but since she muzzled him and the chickens were still showing up dead, their mortality is no doubt from the cold. So we rounded them up today and closed up the coop. They are caged chickens now, and better off for it, too.

I love taking care of my animals, though sometimes I forget this in the stress of the day, Today I prepared a special warm sugary drink for my nearly frozen feathered ones, and then hustled them all into the coop, with the help of Bert and J. It’s cold enough that they might still freeze—one hen in particular—and our extension chord is frozen under the ice, so we can’t put a heat lamp in the coop with them. But I think they’ll be alright. I’ll bring them more hot sugar water before dark, which will help a lot.

After the chickens were all snug, I went and checked on my goats. Their noses and ears were warm, so they were alright. I’ve kept them locked up since the snow hardened, which upsets them, but not as much as my coming in for a visit and not giving them more grain. Goats are absolute gluttons, no matter how adorable.

Even though the windchill was a bitter 2, and my feet were more frozen than not, I enjoyed the husbandry tasks of the day. This is usually the case. I like working outside, and even the more raunchy tasks like mucking out the goat barn give me satisfaction. I’ve just always wanted to have a little farm. But the truth is that nothing is fun, even things you absolutely love to do, when you are overwhelmed.

And yes, I have been overwhelmed. This is no big news. But I also think that being overwhelmed is more of a state of mind than a product of one’s outer life. Maybe? It might be the wrong time of year to seek a calmer inner state, but the holidays are over, and it’s a new year, so screw the ice and screw the snow. I’m going to follow my bliss, with a little help from my half gallon of St. John’s Wort tincture, which I crafted in the warm days of July. Here’s to happy flowers!