Mid-winter

captured by my daughter

captured by my daughter

captured by my daughter

captured by my daughter

The weather has been rather dreary here at Front Forty Farm.   With temperatures in the 40's, cloudy skies, and some form of precipitation almost every day this past week, the winter wonderland has suddenly transformed into a dreary, grey, drippy mess of slush and ice.  It's hard to believe that the landscape was so vibrant with color only a few months ago. I've gone back and looked at my archived posts of last summer, soothing myself with the pictures of  our yard and garden. (I think I mentioned doing this in one of my summer garden posts).  The warmer weather and melting snow gave a false sense that spring was on its way, but here in New England, we all know spring is not coming any time soon. In fact, sub-zero temperatures are again predicted for the upcoming week.  For a fleeting moment I thought about placing my vegetable seed order, but I quickly dismissed the idea, knowing that a box of seeds sitting in the pantry would only make the cabin fever that is starting to settle in worse.

Not being able to do much outside right now because of all the ice and water, I have been struggling with keeping the little ones entertained. Although, they do play well with their inside toys, I think everyone is anxious to be able to run free outside.  We have been listening to stories on tape, working on Lego creations, building tents in the living room, and doing lots of puzzles and coloring.  This time of the year is always tough. The festivities of Christmas and the New Year are behind us; the novelty of freshly fallen snow and cozy fires in the wood stove has worn off; the affects of the long nights and shorter days are starting to be felt, but this is winter in our corner.  It is here.  It is here for a while longer.  I  must accept it.

In my attempts to keep cabin fever at bay, I tried to focus on the tasks at hand and remind myself to continue to take pleasure in the coziness of the season, which I so readily did a month ago.  I cast on a new knitting project (which I hope to share with you later this week), sorted through and organized the babies' clothing closet, took the Christmas tree down (finally) and packed away the holiday decorations, matched a basket full of socks, re-potted some houseplants that were in desperate need of my attention, started a new book, lit candles, and enjoyed some BBC with Hubby. Taking advantage of the "January thaw", Hubby gave the barn an early "spring cleaning", and we discussed changes that would need to be made to the barn and pastures if we got sheep again.  Food was left in the woodshed for a new stray cat, and the sighting of a Pileated woodpecker in the trees near the house resulted in suet hanging on a tree near the garden.  Winter always seems longer than any other season here in the north, but spring does eventually come.  The landscape will be bathed in color again, and the sounds of peepers and fluttering birds will fill the air as new life begins. Each season has its purpose, and, for now, I will embrace the season that is upon us.

I would like to leave you with a lovely poem by one of my favorite authors, Lucy Maud Montgomery.

The Garden in Winter
by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Frosty-white and cold it lies
Underneath the fretful skies;
Snowflakes flutter where the red
Banners of the poppies spread,
And the drifts are wide and deep
Where the lilies fell asleep.

But the sunsets o'er it throw
Flame-like splendor, lucent glow,
And the moonshine makes it gleam
Like a wonderland of dream,
And the sharp winds all the day
Pipe and whistle shrilly gay.

Safe beneath the snowdrifts lie
Rainbow buds of by-and-by;
In the long, sweet days of spring
Music of bluebells shall ring,
And its faintly golden cup
Many a primrose will hold up.

Though the winds are keen and chill
Roses' hearts are beating still,
And the garden tranquilly
Dreams of happy hours to be
In the summer days of blue
All its dreamings will come true.

Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874 - 1942) 

Joining the Homestead Barn Hop