Winter is Over

This picture is telling.  Isn't it pretty?  This was taken on one of the very few cold crisp winter days that did not have a valley inversion.  Of the roughly 60 days that make up January and February, over 50 had horrible horrible air quality, like pretend you smoke-a-pack-a-day air quality that makes national news.

But this day? This day was striking and beautiful. The twiggy arch was my summer therapy creative session, and it proved to be a pretty winter statement.

But notice the gate?  It fell off its hinges in the snow and was stuck open for some time.  Last week a mystery pooch/beast came in the night and killed 8 of our chickens.

See the bridge in the background?  The siderails have been a scratching post for goats, to the point that they are detached and slowly inviting the decay of our cute bridge.

See the chicken coop?  It is sturdy and well, perhaps just in need of some new paint. 

By some measures, the farm has fallen into the "disrepair" category, what with the adjusting, mending, and painting that clearly is in order.

But the snow melted last week, and the grass is in plain sight! There are outbuildings to paint, weeds to pull, garden beds to till, flowers to plant.

I worry that I am lacking the drive I had a year ago.  There was a freeing throwing-of-the-hands-in-the-air-gesture of "still got that baby fat but I'll just work it out in the garden" shrug.  Well guess what?  I just got fatter.  Apparently working in your garden all day is quickly cancelled out when you eat ice cream late at night while watching Portlandia.

I suppose nothing great comes off without a detailed plan, but I feel like my body is contradicting my words of responsible agriculture, raw greens, and living off the earth.

 We're still looking at these winterscapes as I whine about not being beautiful and twenty years old anymore.

 Seriously, why is everyone running marathons?  Why is success, drive, goal-setting, ambition, and success constantly compared to whether or not you go to the gym every day?

I think I feel judged, but mostly by myself.  Going on a bratty introspective vanity rant seems perfect with a sole frosted pine tree, with lonely footsteps leading to it right?

Like the farm, I have fallen a little into the disrepair category.  I'm hoping some good old fashioned sunshine and black dirt will invite some new life around here.