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Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Winter on Franklin Hill Farm

A prose poem to gratitude and worry

By Bettina Sperry

The bitter cold is here and the local temps approach zero each night. This morning our temps were in the negative. I do love cold weather and tend to stay outside working in it and finding farm things to do, but this prolonged deep freeze is making some things impossible to do, and consequently, rearranging my routine and tasks. As well, everything takes longer to complete. While I’m wrapping up year four on this farm, there are improvements yet to be made, fencing to be updated, paddocks to be completed, and a building or two to be added, God willing.
    The full moon provided the light for my walk, making this farm feel more vast than it already is. Snow and ice covered the ground. The cows were running alongside me at a brisk pace and making noise along the way. Alone with my farm in the cold, in the dark, and the big sky above me, at that moment I felt like I was out in the Midwest somewhere, Wyoming perhaps, on a ranch rounding up my cattle for a feeding. I floated between being grateful that I could provide them the nourishment much needed for this harsh winter and the contrary, worrying about their well-being. I had never seen it this cold, for this long a time. I finished my walk, entered the house and went to bed, worrying still.
    While I am writing this, I am reminded of the humble paradise of the country roads on which I live. Yes, West Virginia.


Copyright © 2018 by Bettina Sperry

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