Oh, What a Beautiful Morning

I love the snow. Nearly everyone I talk to claims to love snow, but they enjoy it falling rather than sticking around and would just assume it warm back up and melt it all away and go back to a comfortable 75 degree day with the sun ablaze. I, on the other hand, much prefer a deep freeze with several inches of snow on the ground for extended periods of time. In college I used to shovel all of my elderly neighbors driveways and sidewalks just for an excuse to get outside in the fluffy white stuff.

Shoveling off the back deck during our most recent heavy snowfall.

To this day, shoveling snow is one of the winter activities that brings me joy. One of many, I might add. There really isn’t a whole lot I can think of that I can do in the snow that I would rather do in the warmer months. Cutting firewood, animal chores, working on equipment, sledding, playing with the children, walking through the woods… to me it’s all better in a world at 20 degrees covered in snow. I mean, you try piling up mud and carving a replica Kunekune pig with a hat, scarf, and a tobacco pipe and tell me how you like it.

I love seeing the evergreen trees on our property laden with snow-covered boughs. I love the sound of crunching snow beneath my boots. I love the gentle creaking of tree limbs being tossed around on a blustery winter wind. I love the brightness of the sun reflecting off the crystals of snow in shades of orange, blue, and green (look closely next time and, at the right angle, when the sun is out, you’ll see what I mean). I love being able to work hard outside with the option to shed layers rather than work in drenched cotton t-shirt with no relief from the sweltering heat. I love the utter quiet that comes over the earth, as song birds huddle in their nests counting down the days till spring.

Mista Pig. Not here for a long time, but here for a good time.

I’ve never heard a morning as silent as a winter morning before the sun crests the horizon. If you’ve ever wondered what the sound of silence is like, I encourage you to beat the sun on a snow covered January morning at 5 a.m. I love the feeling of tingling toes and fingers bitten by the cold because I know when the task is complete I can come inside and warm them by the fire. But, I think, most of all I love the hope of this season of dullness. spring will come. The weather will turn. Warmth and green, and noise, even in the still of the night, are just around the corner, but I don’t spend my winter months wishing them away, for they are so fleeting.

Isn’t that the way we ought to live each and every day? I certainly don’t slow down enough to appreciate the things around me like I do in the dead of winter, especially if it’s snow-covered. Ultimately, I think that’s what I love the most about it. Not what opportunities it provides, but that by those it takes away (gardening, greenery, foraging, song birds, chirping crickets, rustling leaves on a summer breeze, etc.) it affords something no other season can in the same way. A true time of reflection. Time dedicated, at least for me, toward appreciating and looking back on the year that lay behind and the one that lie ahead. And so I’ll never complain about the winter, especially a snow-covered and bitterly cold one.

My youngest son and I soaking up the radiant heat from our fireplace last winter.

Chickens, especially our, most likely because they’ve been pampered by the cozy coop and covered run we gave them right off the rip, do not like the snow. The cold doesn’t bother them, as we’ve had plenty of days and nights in the 20’s with no snow on the ground. But as soon as the earth turns a dusty white, they hardly leave the coop and run. That’s why I designed and built that piece of infrastructure the way I did, utilizing a deep liter method in the coop to allow the nitrogen-rich chicken manure to compost with the carbon-rich wood chips we use as bedding. Scratched about like chickens do, the 8-10 inch layer of bedding (deep liter) actually begins to compost down and, therefore, generate its own heat source for the chickens. If you’ve never heard of it before, compost piles, especially if uncared for, can spontaneously combust like wet hay does in a hay mow. The process of decomposition is a chemical reaction that generates heat, and a fair amount of it too if the compost pile is not looked after (turned and wetted according to its needs at any given time). With our covered run the chickens, all 35 layers and our rooster, have plenty of room to stretch out, have access to good nutrient-rich feed and fresh water daily, no matter the season. They, like the song birds, are huddled in their nest (coop) awaiting the spring thaw.

Pigs on the other hand don’t really mind the snow, and certainly not the cold with that thick layer of body fat they carry naturally. It’s like the Good Lord intended for them to be prolific all over the globe, as they are about as adaptable as any animal on the planet. Since we do contain them in paddocks surrounded by electric netting, we do have to provide them with more than their wild counterparts who could hunt around the wilderness to find what meets those same needs. Feed and water twice daily and, on the really cold nights below 20 degrees, a flake or two of hay for bedding and forage available when all else is covered by snow. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy our pigs?

Opening the door just at the break of day, and even before in the weeks immediately around the winter solstice, feeling the cold air on my face, heading out to do chores is one of the most precious moments of my day. I can think, reflect, pray, and prepare myself for the day ahead. I’m greeted, mostly by the pigs, but the chickens also, with affection and gratitude for the nourishment my visit represents, and my mind can be as quiet as the world is around me. What a blessing. Nope, you’ll never hear me complaining about winter, at least not so long as it continues to be cold and snow-covered. Hopefully this offers up a perspective you’ve not heard or encountered in a while, if ever, and hopefully this will help you not look upon Punxsutawney Phil with quite as much disdain when he delivers the news of 6 more weeks of winter. Take care, enjoy some time with friends and family, and I’ll chat with you again next time.

Cheers,

Jake Miller