Miraculous Pair

I am on a sojourn down to my Mother's house in the Catskills, NY. My daughter is getting to spend some quality time with the her grandmother and also with me.

My great-grandparents bought this land 100 years ago this year. It turned into a boardinghouse business, and now six generations have run across these fields.

The goldfinches are all turned yellow here.

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The birds are quite busy and loud in the yard. There are several feeders and a birdbath. I fondly remember helping my grandmother scoop black oil sunflower seeds out of their container under the cellar steps, to feed the birds every day. Now, my daughter gets to visit her grandmother here!

On the way to New York, we passed a cow field in Vermont where a heifer must have just stood after delivering her calf. We could see it lying wet and new, a little stunned in the sunny, warm grass. She picked a good day: our first real warmer one in weeks.

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I pulled the car to the shoulder, and my daughter and I went to gently try and observe without disturbing the pair. Momma cow turned to face us, a little alarmed- but we didn't look directly at or approach her. We were still a good fifty feet away, and stayed there, with the fence and bushes between us.

I know horse language, but have never had the opportunity to learn 'cow.' However, her initial reaction was universal: don't come near my baby.

After a few seconds, she settled back to taking care of the calf. She had already encouraged the new little one to its feet. She was licking the baby, cooing-mooing softly: it was so beautiful. Then she turned the baby around, and stepped forward so it could find her udders.

Seeing a baby cow drink milk for the first time is a sight I will never forget.

I was full of wonder-- my daughter and I decided to leave the pair alone, though. These ARE important moments, and we didn't want to intrude any more.

My daughter worried that we'd disrupted the heifer's time with her newborn, but I assured her that our witnessing that moment was a gift which we did not overuse.

I am so grateful to have been given the chance to share such a miracle on this special trip with my youngest. I love her good 'midwife' instincts, too!

Not Too Cold

Twenty degrees feels very different in early April-- compared to mid-February. 

The air has already been warmed a few times, and the frigid edge has been taken off. The horses are nonchalant about having spent a night at ten degrees.

It is so much easier to get going in the new light of spring!

It's still an astonishing novelty to greet us every morning.

Changing Season

The wind has been blowing on and off for a few days. It appears to be from the south. Sitting inside at night you hear the terrific Whoom Who-Oooom of its deep howl. I always think about the animals at the barn when the wind is loud. For some reason, I enjoy its sound and like falling asleep to it.

Maybe it's a reminder how secure and blessed we are in our homes-- even a very old farmhouse like mine: it's made very solid. I am pretty sure houses are not made like this anymore, unless it's intentional.

A few sprinklings of light, glittery snow were breezing their way down into my backyard as I checked on the birds this morning. There have been several times when it is snowing in my backyard, which faces north, while the front of the house has no snowfall.

Bright flashes of color were winging their way past my window: blues, red, grey...soon the goldfinches will trade their winter olive...

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 for the bright, festive yellow.

The ground is bare and soft after warm days and rain this week. Everything around me is wearing the brown and tans of plants about to come alive. Mt. Mansfield in the distance is still topped with snow.

Winter lets go slowly and gently, its long tentacles reaching far into spring-- which yowls in, predictably changing everything. Winter is the old man; spring is the newborn.

I love them both for different reasons.