New Year, Same Ewe

You’re great just as you are—no changes required.

If, in 2022, you want to resolve to eat more fiber, well, fine, okay, that’s a worthy goal. (So are taking more sun naps, and giving more sheep skritches.)

But please tune out the messaging that you need to be thinner, or more productive, or more (insert whatever it is you are not) in 2022. You are already worthy of love. And we think your individuality is what makes you perfect.

— Nurse, Bah-atrice, Juliet, and the whole sheepie gang

---

Here’s What’s Happening At Good Spirits Farm

Our first deep freeze is upon us. The snow started yesterday around 10:30 a.m., when I was desperately trying to fill water troughs before everything froze solid. Unfortunately, I’d made a crucial mistake the night before by not thoroughly emptying the hose. Now, an ice nugget lodged somewhere in the line was rendering the hose useless. Even worse, it was destined to stay that way for days as the cold front rolled in. I yelled a few obscenities into the slate-grey sky and then got on with hand-carrying buckets out to the critters as the first fat snowflakes began to fall.

Winter storms, it turns out, are not so fun when an entire farm is relying on your care.

This morning, I’ll strap on snowshoes and haul hay bales out to the pasture. The one upside of deep snow is that you can slide bales instead of carrying them. I may even plant my butt on one and see if I can use it as a sled.

The downside, though, is that animals rip through forage when it is cold. I dropped off about 120 pounds of hay at 4 p.m. yesterday. When I came out two hours later to do a last check before nightfall, they’d devoured every last morsel. So I hauled out two more bales—crunching across icy snow until well after twilight turned into dark.

We just need to get to Saturday, when the mercury will march towards 40 degrees and the grass will be accessible again. Just another 24 hours or so, I keep telling myself. Hopefully, we only get a few storms like this throughout this winter. Otherwise, our hay supply (and my passion for this work) may run low.

Send us your warmest vibes, please!

---

Here’s What I Loved This Week

Watching Chris carry chickens who refused to walk through snow back to the chicken coop at bedtime. Apparently, our southerner chickens don’t do snow! They’d hunkered down in the pole barn when it started snowing yesterday, and then couldn’t (or wouldn’t) get back to the coop. Chris picked up each one, took it to the feeding station for a snack and a sip of water before bed, then carefully set her on her roost for the night.