“Oh give me land, lots of land under starry skies above. Don’t fence me in…I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences. Gaze at the moon till I lose my senses…Don’t fence me in” – Gene Autry
Winter on the mountain was magical. The first snowfall blanketed the fields with hushed purity. The moonlight sparkled on the snow crystals like diamonds on a wedding gown. The bracing cold air, almost electrified, was exhilarating and calming at the same time. Simply magical. The bright stars twinkling through the heavens, the light breeze blowing puffs of powdery snow off the deck railing in the moonlight created a silent fireworks display as the crystals drifted into the ether.
The silence of the night, the glow of soft light on the fields of snow below the house, faded away to the lights of the city, miles away. Magical. Simply magical.
There is something about the scent of snow that is captivating and energizing. The air smells alive and clean. All of the impurities of life are somehow blanketed in a soft quilt of pure, dazzling white. The sins of the muddy earth made holy. With the children in bed, the house is quiet. Linda is working on lesson plans for her class tomorrow. She will need to leave extra early due to the heavy, drifting snow on the highway. I am alone on the deck, enchanted by the beauty of the world before me. I feel powerful and at peace. All is well.
A few weeks later…
It’s minus 20 outside. It’s been minus twenty for two f…ing weeks. The driveway has been drifted closed with a 12 foot drift for nearly a month. It will be March before we can drive to our house. All our groceries are packed on a toboggan and dragged over the drift and down the driveway to the house. The icicles on the eaves are now three feet long with each deadly spike ready to break off and stab some poor person, probably me, to an untimely and terrible death. With all evidence melting away in the cold sun, my death will be a mystery for the coroner.
The once pure snow is now a brown frozen sludge alongside the county road leading to our miserable, prison driveway. The peaceful, quiet nights have been replaced by terrifying howls of packs of coyotes getting ever braver and nearer to our house. What have we done? What were we thinking about when we built this frozen garrison on a mountain, miles from civilization?
Husbandry 