The creek wore white

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

I noticed on our walk yesterday that the daylily shoots were close to four inches tall. The plum trees were covered with swollen pink buds, and several of the daffodils that I had planted along the road had already flowered. Spring was starting to awaken.

And today was the day for green. I woke up ready to don my green apparel.

I dug through my seasonal jewelry box, finding first one, and then, after a concerted search, the match to my shamrock earrings. As I started the water for our morning coffee, with shamrock earrings dangling, I looked out the window toward the goat yard.

Oddly enough, the goats were still bedded down inside their goat houses. Usually, they wake like clockwork, and start to bleat their beggarly bleat, telling us that we had better get going and serve them their morning breakfast or they will certainly starve within the minute, but not this morning. They were sleeping in.

A fat snow flake fell across my view, followed by another, and then another. By the time we had finished breakfast, and were heading out to do the animal chores, our creek world was covered with close to two inches of fresh snow. Not a speck of green anywhere in sight. I felt my earrings hang cold against my cheek.

The dogs raced about the yard as Greg let the chickens out. The chickens made a bee line up to the recycled outhouse, now feed shed, to wait for their scattered cracked corn.

The dogs careened about in the snow, skidding and sliding and crashing into each other, only to run away and turn and head pell-mell back towards each other, and then crash head on again.

By the time Greg and I had fed and watered the goats, rabbits, chickens, and pigeons, the dogs had begun to slow down. As I took a few photos of the white day around us, one dog lay down in the snow in front of rabbit row. The large white flakes began to gather on her back as she thirstily lapped up the snow in front of her.

She rolled onto her side, and stretched out, the better to reach fresh snow. She stretched and licked, then stretched the other way and licked some more. I thought to myself, now that was certainly a very happy, contented creature.

Her companion sat by the front door, ready to go inside. He watched patiently as I walked across the yard to the cabin, up the steps, and stomped the snow off my rubber boots.

He still watched as I hopped about the porch, first on one leg and then the other, as I performed my one legged rubber boot removal procedure. Dance over, and boots off, I stepped in stocking feet onto the dry porch and opened the front door.

My dog hurriedly brushed past me, heading straight for the wood stove. He circled twice, right in front of the stove, and then, before I even had my jacket off, he lay down in what must have been the perfect spot, his chin on his front paws.

He looked up at me, and I thought to myself, now there was the perfect vision of a second, very happy, contented creature. The white snowflakes on his back quickly melted, leaving his coat a sleek, glossy black.

I looked out the window. I could see Greg heading across the white ground from the goat yard. As he passed by our snow dog, she rose to follow him inside. She was quite covered, looking more white than her usual black.

The bill of Greg's cap was also piled high with white. I smiled. On this day, when many folks celebrate with green, wearing, and even eating, green, our creek world was quite white.

I wore shamrock earrings. The creek wore white.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.