We have so much snow - at least thirteen inches, which is more than we usually get. Yesterday morning I was excited to take Puck outside for his first foray into the deep snow because I knew it was going to be great fun watching his stubby legs navigate the drifts. I knew this was going to be an adventure for him when I saw that he already had snow in his ears after just a few steps.
The snow was stacked so high that the raised beds were indistinguishable, and the yard looked like it had lumps with random tomato cages sprinkled about. I love it when a place I am so familiar with that I can nearly navigate it in the dark is transformed into an alien landscape by the snow.
The elephant fountain looks like a snow cone. Puck and I admired the unmarred surface and steep sides of the tall snow, and the way the giant wreath looked with snowy frosting, before we disturbed the unbroken surface of the yard. I couldn't help but feel that it's a shame to walk on it.
All right, Puck, this is as far as I'm leading. Let's see what you got. Go!
He bravely took the first leap into the unbroken snow was immediately bogged down. I thought he was done for. His little legs may have been churning, but all I could see was his peanut shaped body wedged in the white fluff. Come on Puck, you can do it!
I should have never doubted him. After a few moments of struggle, he shifted into four wheel drive and managed to perfect a rocking and bouncing technique that propelled him forward at a pretty fast clip. He was off! Like a furry little tank on a mission to find privacy.
From the sanctuary of my shed, the chicken coop and drooping boughs of the cedars made a lovely view. After several days of mud and dirty snow, it's a relief to see the world clean and white. I turned my attention to the snow covered chicken coop. I peaked inside, and was relieved to find everybody safe inside. They made it very clear that they were waiting for me to bring them breakfast in bed.
Mrs. Hall and June shared the first course. Pork Fat, however, took her time coming down from upstairs. I was just glad to know she had enough sense to get in the coop during heavy snowfall. On and off for the past few weeks she's been sleeping on the grill, and sometimes I find that June joins her. I was curious to know if I would come outside to find the two cooing snowy lumps on the grill.
The inside of the chicken coop seems like pleasant enough place to spend a few snow days. Both ends are still partially snow free, so there is plenty of light and air, but the snow piled on the walls gives a muted light, and sounds from outside are muffled so it's peaceful inside. The chickens have a few square feet of snow free wood chips to scratch around in, and their perch and nest box is sheltered too. No eggs though.
I brought the chickens a drink of water, since I could tell they weren't motivated to fight their way to the electric bucket near the house. I filmed a short video of Pork Fat sharing a drink with me. When I bragged about my filmography to Brandon I think he had such low expectations of a home cell phone video of a chicken drinking water that he seemed pleasantly surprised at the film quality, so I thought you might enjoy it too. Let me know.
Puck's trail makes me laugh because his body drags a much bigger path through the snow than the little paw prints all in a line would predict. Once Puck disturbs the snowy slate I don't feel quite so bad for disturbing the landscape either, so I follow his paths.
I'm glad the chickens and the dog require that I go out into the snow on cold mornings like this. Otherwise, I may have stayed inside admiring the snow from the windows and missed the cool shapes that formed on the swing.
The wisteria on the pergola over the hot tub on the back porch has quite a big presence when it's form is highlighted by lines of snow pile. I like the contrast of the straight edges and angles of the wood and lattice and the organic forms of the wisteria and hop vines.
Our back porch evolved into this strange and complex structure over the past ten years, and looking at it with fresh eyes because of the snow, I wondered at it's existence. I've allowed the wisteria to live without proper training, and I wonder if it's to late to teach it new tricks. If we don't live here, will anyone else appreciate it in this state?
Would you call this fella's snowy hat a skull cap? Ha! No..?
Puck was too cold to enjoy any more of my bad jokes, so he stared intently at the door knob until I was summoned to go inside.