BABY GOAT AND A BABY-BARN

Icicles Just Outside Our Bedroom Window

          Looks like winter is here to stay for quite awhile.  -24C is quite a common temperature these days - perhaps when we started out from Nanaimo, BC, we should have headed south instead of east.  Just last Saturday, despite the freezing cold temperatures and the snow whirling about, Freya, our goat, gave birth to two kids for the first time.  Sarah, my wife, was so worried about the goat giving birth without anyone nearby, but me, I just figured let nature take its course - after all goats have been dropping kids, not just one, but up to five at a time for thousands of years without the help of humans.  Freya must have given birth to her two babies a short while before I arrived in the morning to feed the livestock.  Unfortunately, the doe, because her eyes were not open, must have died stillborn and the little Billy goat wasn't looking too good either.  After I told Sarah that Freya gave birth, I took the little doe out into the forest and laid her down in the soft snow;  the circle of life; one dies so another can live  

          Giving Freya the benefit of a doubt since she was a new mom, we had a difficult time trying to get her to feed the little guy.  Sarah tried bottle-feeding him but he wouldn't suck on the nipple, so the only way he finally got any milk was for me to pull Freya down on the stall floor, then put my weight on her so she couldn't get up and then Sarah managed to get the little guy to suck on her teat.  For the first couple of days, we weren't sure if the wee Billy goat was going to live or not because he still hadn't managed to stand on all four legs and appeared to be very listless.  However, on the third day, he was not only standing, although a touch wobbly, he was able to walk on his own and Freya was allowing him to suckle.  I'm not sure if he is supposed to be livelier than he is now or not but only time will tell.  Not the best time, the middle of winter, for a goat to have a young one, so if we decide to let Freya have any more kids, we're going to make sure that she has a springtime kid.  Not sure what we're going to do with the baby goat once it's full grown because we don't want any Billy goats and there is the risk of him mating with his mother - that is definitely a big no-no

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   12'x16' Baby-Barn in Bill Leeman's Yard

          I bought Bill Leeman's baby-barn the other day and we're hoping to skid it about 1/2 mile down the road - one hill down and one hill up to our place come this weekend.  It's pretty much bare-bones inside; there's a loft but there isn't any standing room.  Fortunately, since I'm not a very tall fellow, I'm going to drop the loft down about 1.5', which hopefully will just give me standing room in the centre.  I'll put the computers along the walls, so since I'll be sitting at them, I should be alright - just have to make sure I don't get up in a hurry so I don't bash my head on the ceiling.  The baby-barn was being used for storage but I have plans to convert it into a new studio - still not a huge space but there will be plenty of room for what I want to do - should be a real cozy, come next winter, to create some paintings or other types of artistry.  

          I like the studio I built in the garage even though it's pretty tight.  However, when I built it in the summer, soon after we first moved here, I didn't know that the garage flooded when the rain fell heavily or in the spring, when everything thaws.  Renovating the baby-barn will be another fair sized project for me as soon as the weather gets warm enough to rip out the old studio and start working on it.  I don't want to think about all that work at the moment though, because just the thought of it makes my back, muscles and joints ache.  How did I ever get myself into this situation at 70 years of age; it would be nice to be at least 10 years younger.

          We have another snow storm blowing our way; supposed to start snowing in about an hour and a half so I best stop writing this blog and start hauling in some wood from the wood shed while the yard is still fairly clear - Bobby Farrell ploughed it just a little while ago and I won't say how much snow I shovelled by hand to clear a space for the baby-barn.  Yup, time to go, my fingers are almost numb with cold from typing in my cold studio - it's not freezing in here but it's cold just the same - doubt there are too many people sitting at a keyboard wearing a thick coat and a fur lined hat pulled over their ears to keep warm - I'll have to have me a Fireball (cinnamon-flavoured rum) a little later on  - cheers, eh!   

    

THE WONDROUS WONDER OF WONDERING

          Do you ever wonder why you wonder about the wonders of this wonderfully wondering world - what's with the fascination of fascinating on these fascinations?  I don't know why I wonder about these wondrous fascinations, but I do.
          A man by the name of Elmer Cline gave the wonderful fluffy white bread that's so common in the supermarkets its name, you know the one I mean; "Wonder Bread".  I guess we can't blame Elmer (Vice President of Taggert Baking Co.) for looking up one day, back in 1921 andseeing a bunch of balloons, mainly red, white and blue, floating aimlessly around up in the sky and thought it was a "wonder".  He probably didn't realize it then but he quite likely became the "King of Haemorrhoids" and after growing up for the majority of my younger life eating Wonder Bread, I have or did have the haemorrhoids to prove it.  Can you imagine having your arse hole reamed out by a Dr. Dowell - well I did!  But hey, his probably not so delicate operation inside my wondrous anal cavity did the trick and I have to say thank you Dr. Dowell - I don't crap what used to feel like razor blades any more.  So what's the fascination about white, airy, bread that has almost no nutritional value and is almost fibre free - I have no idea, and I still wonder why that not so wondrous bread is still being sold?  For those of you who still eat Wonder Bread, the next time you buy a loaf and lather a slice up with some butter, take and roll it in your hands for a moment - why bother biting off a pieces of bread one after the other when it easily rolls up into a small bite sized ball of dough.
          And while I'm on the topic of so called food, I wonder about the fascination concerning chocolate bars and of course the one called Wunderbar (German meaning wonderful).  Nothing to much to ponder or wonder about a chocolate bar; they taste tantalizingly delicious, even a Wunderbar.  However, unlike white, fluffy bread, it's not a mainstay in most people's diet - it's more like a treat.  Sure, if you devour enough of Wunderbar chocolate bars, there's a good possibility your teeth will eventually rot and fall out and your face could turn into one huge puss-filled pimple, that when squeezed hard enough, could quite possibly shoot across a room and stick to the wall.  I get a real kick out of reading the nutritional facts printed on a chocolate bar's wrapper - why don't they skip all that and just say, "little or none."  Hmm, just thinking about a Wunderbar chocolate bar is exciting my taste buds and it's no wonder - each bite is scrumptudelicious.  I've never really wondered about Wunderbar chocolate bars but ever since Cadbury came up with the slogan, "How do they get the caramel in the Caramilk bar?" I have to say it has made me pause to wonder just how they managed to do that.
          I guess one of the wonders, if not the "wonder", what we most wonder about, is where we came from.  All sorts of wonderful theories on that one, all manner of chin-wagging and absolutely no real proof, just a lot of scientific conjecture - all the revelations are right up there with "What came first; the chicken or the egg?"  Science is grand, but whichever scientist is in charge of cloning a dinosaur has about the same degree of mentality as Mr. Elmer Cline, especially when the population is so huge, it's becoming more and more difficult and very, very expensive to feed everyone.  Do you have any idea, actually wonder how much food those reptiles would put away in a day?  Perhaps that's it; the wonders that be are planning on starting a Brontosoraus ranch - can you imagine how many steaks and pot roasts that could be butchered from a reptile that size, and then again, would it be cost effective to raise these beasts and could even a fence be built strong enough to hold them in?  The list goes on and on about all the wonders of the world and quite possibly, I think it was the good book (Bible) that stated it best, "It's not for us to know."  But even saying that, I still can't help wondering about a great many unexplainable wonders, especially when Dr. Bruce Banner transforms into a giant green-skinned The Incredible Hulk and his boxer shorts still fit - must be made of incredibly tough Spandex - cheers, eh!      
                     

-30C - BRRRRRRRRRRR IT'S C...C...COLD

          The thermometer must have thought it was in a high diving contest - it plummeted to -30C last night - the coldest temperature we've experienced since we arrived near the base of Green Mountain, Fosterville, New Brunswick about a year and a half ago.  Since the ice is leaving the Arctic regions in droves for warmer climes, I expect at the rate it's migrating southwards, we could become the new North Pole.  It's time to button up the flap on my woolly, long johns; hate to get a touch of frost bite on my two lower cheeks.  I wasn't sure what to expect this morning when I went out to the barn - didn't know if the chickens would all be frozen in a row like a lot of shishkabobs waiting to be baked over an open fire.  Although it was bloody cold in the barn, seems like the animals and the chickens are all fine, looking for their morning feed and water - somehow they just don't cater to chawing on the ice - I have to keep taking water to them every few hours because it doesn't take long before  its turned to ice.  I can't believe old Luki boy, our faithful guard dog - he just lounges about in the snow and ice as if he's taking a Mexican vacation and waiting for a waiter to fetch him a cold drink.  As for Sarah, me and the girls, we're all hunkered around the wood stove wondering who's turn it is to fetch some more wood for the fire.
          I fired up the wood stove in the studio after I finished feeding and watering the animals and even though at least a half an hour has gone by, my fingers still feel and look like skinny, bright pink popsicles; at least my breath isn't fogging up the monitor any more as I type up this Blog.  Not sure how much time I'll be spending out here today as I'm still working on Sarah's pantry.  Although George Probst and I installed the shelving unit we actually harvested from the forest and cut into boards a couple of days ago, I'm still in the midst of clear-coating them with Varathane - have one more light sanding before I lay the final coat on.  Since becoming friends with George, a master cabinet maker and carver, besides learning about building useful things, I've quickly grown to appreciate the value of trees even more so.  All of the wood we harvested came from already dead trees - until they begin to rot, the wood is still excellent to use - the grains so beautiful and natural.  However, it's Sunday today, so instead of doing any actual work, work, I believe I'd rather just sit around a bit, give my aching bones, joints and muscles a rest - might even pour me a tub full of hot water up to my neck, turn the skin a lobster red colour and lazily read a book - one that doesn't matter if I suddenly drift off, take a snooze and drop the sucker in the water.  It's too bad we snorted back the last of our Fireball (cinnamon flavoured whiskey) - nothing tastes better than that when it's poured into a steaming mug of hot chocolate on a freezing cold day.
          Does anyone remember when the saying was, "go west young man; go west", well I used to live almost as far west as a person could go and still remain in Canada and what my wife and I discovered, "go east young man; go east" might be a better proclamation.  Although the winters are definitely a lot more severe than they are where we came from on Vancouver Island, I don't have any qualms or doubts about ever returning - despite all the aching pains that one seems to acquire if a person lives long enough, I'd still much rather live here on our frozen 50 acres without a push button central heating system.  There's just something to be said for grabbing an arm load of dry wood, piling it into the wood stove, striking a match to it and then watching the flames dance away, almost hypnotically, while listening to the crackling chorus it generates while just sitting back and relaxing with your cold feet just inches away from the fire.  Us humans aren't really naturally adequate to withstand the cold - even if I let my eye brows, the hair on top of my head, my face and in my nose and ears grown very lengthy, it still wouldn't be enough to keep me sufficiently warm.  I'm not sure what would kill me first - freezing to death or shivering so violently until I broke every bone in my body.  And you know, that being said, I still haven't figured out why the majority of the human race doesn't take better care of the trees and all the creatures that live within the forests because we need them as much as the very air we breathe - and oh yeah - the majority of the air we breathe comes from the trees.  People in general just don't get it - that we and everything around us are one - we cannot exist without the other - well, that's not quite true - everything else would exist a lot more effectively if we weren't around.
          Time to throw another log on the fire, give the creatures that rely on me, some more water - check the thermometer again - nah - don't have to see what the temperature is to realize that it's dang cold - cheers, eh!

LIFE ISN'T A BEACH - IT'S A FROZEN BEACH!

          Life is a frozen beach!  The lake is frozen solid and little fish huts can be seen dotting the perimeters but at -20 degrees, I'm not sure that even if they were each filled to the walls with 5 or six fat guys, they still wouldn't freeze to death.  These days, there certainly isn't any curvaceous women wearing bikinis strutting their stuff along the sandy beach, leaving their footprints in the sand - no - it's time for furry long-johns with the flap sewed shut and snow shoes.  Dang if it aint cold - Big Red, one of our roosters, I thought for sure he was dead, frozen stiffer than a board between the nesting boxes and the wall.  Silly old cluck, must of thought it was a warmer place and wedged himself in so tight, it took both Sarah and I to get his feathery ass pushed out of that tight, narrow little space.  He was walkin' like he'd had too many apple ciders until he regained his proper balance and then just like the virile rooster he is, he immediately grabbed one of the hens by the top of her comb with his beak and yippee-ki-yay, rode her like a true cowboy.  It doesn't feel like spring is in the air but perhaps it is, or either, roosters are just plain randy fellahs - that's what I'm thinking.
          Freya the goat seems to be holding up pretty good so far in this cold weather although I did find a little ice on her back close to her tail.  Not sure how she got so wet up so high.  Although the garage is just slightly below zero, I expect the temperature is about the same where she lives, so she should be just fine, especially when the temperature soars to a whopping -7 degrees later today.  But it's cold here in Fosterville; it's so cold that when I exhale and my breath freezes, it puts on a pair of boots and starts marching south to thaw out.  I just can't figure out Luki, our miniature polar bear of a dog; instead of curling up in the warm straw inside the barn, he seems to prefer laying out on the ice and snow - go figure.  So far I've mentioned the chickens, goat and the dog so I might as well mention Finnegan the cat; our mouse killer - he looks like a secret agent as he sneaks about the place.  Not sure if the cold is bothering him or not but I suspect it is because he's moved his sleeping quarters from the top of my studio to the barn - snuggles into the straw for a little extra insulation and warmth.
          There is a lot to say about sleeping in a straw pile and I can speak with authority on that subject since I've slept in several straw beds over the years.  I can definitely vouch for it's warmth and comfort and I didn't even care that a few mice snuggled up to me during the night.  If you're cold and wet; straw can make one helluva good bed and if a guy has a warm-bodied cowgirl to snuggle with; it's even more delightful (wink, wink).
          Although the temperature in the studio is well above zero; a person soon gets chilled just sitting here at the keyboard typing out a blog - got a feeling this is going to be a very short one.  I  have to rub my hands together and blow on them to keep the blood circulating properly.  Even though I'm well dressed for the studio, that is to say I'm wearing a Cowichan Indian knitted thick, wool sweater, wool socks with the toes cut off for my hands, a fur hat with the flaps down around my ears, my fingers are beginning to turn blue and are becoming a touch numb.  Having arthritis in both hands doesn't help either - between my hands and my back, almost feels like I've swallowed a couple of drums and they're throbbing in time to the beat.
          No use complaining about the weather though, even if it is cold enough to freeze the teats off a coyote  - nothing I can do about it except adding layers of more clothing and throwing more logs into the fire.  However, I'll soon be nice and warm in the house - I'm going to strip off some wall paper and then paint Sarah's new pantry room - have to get it ready for the shelving George and I are going to install sometime this week.  Finally got Jessica's bottom of the bed cut in half so I could fold it up and get it upstairs yesterday - I was too busy this past autumn with other chores.  It's not like she didn't have a place to sleep though because her mattress is as thick as the part it sits on.  Most likely shouldn't have bothered putting her bed together because early this morning, I heard a big thump and then Jessica crying - yeah, you guessed it; she fell out of bed.
          Well, my finger tips have just about lost all  their feeling, so I think it's best to end this blog, lift my frozen butt off this chair and head into the house, stand by the fire and thaw out.  Better check the livestock's water first though; doesn't take long before it's frozen solid.  Oh yeah, and when I get into the house it'll be time for a hot drink with perhaps a little added stimulate to help get my blood circulating through this old body - cheers, eh!

SNOW, SNOW, SNOW; LET IT SNOW

          We had precipitation last night of the white variety.  Although the flaky stuff piled up to about 4", it wasn't enough to deter the big, yellow school bus from picking up all the kidlets standing by the side of the road or waiting just inside the house to merrily dash out and climb aboard, like the Polar Express on its way to the North Pole.  Come to think about it, the temperature is probably getting close to a summer day at the Pole.  No sense letting the chickens out, poor little feathery creatures would be up to their necks in snow.  Now the goat, even though she looks like she's carrying two pack of beer inside her; yup, she's preggars, up the stump, a couple of buns in the oven, I already let her out to forage around and get a bit of exercise if she has a mind to.  The dog, out of all the livestock living here on Golden Unicorn Farm, even including the cat that snuggles into the insulation on the top of my art studio, I'd say he's the best equipped with 2 layers of hair to keep out the Arctic gales - matter of fact - he looks right at home, like a miniature polar bear as he stretches out on the icy ground and takes a long nap.  If it ever gets seriously cold, I know the only other guy I'd let share our bed with my wife and I, would be old Luki boy - he's as big as me, only a whole lot hairier and warmer.
           Although the snow isn't very deep and the frozen rain that was predicted didn't arrive, it has a thin crust, which makes walking a touch difficult.  I don't think we need the driveway ploughed but a pathway from the house to the studio, to the woodshed, to the barn, to the truck, to the roadway and for the animals to negotiate a little better would probably be a good idea.  Geesh, if I do all that shovelling, there won't be hardly any need for Bobby Farrell and his trusty 1/2 ton truck with a snow plough attached to the front to plough - could save me 25 bucks too.  Last year it snowed so much, being waist deep seemed like an everyday occurrence but this year in comparison, hardly a white flake has fallen and I'm OK with that scenario.  Finally got the sheets of polyester attached to the outside of the house once again in time for this snowfall (the cheap tape I had previously bought didn't hold).  I used red duct tape once again - the only trouble being, when the tape is pulled off in the spring, it leaves a 2" pink border all around the house - looks like a racing stripe on an Indy 500 race car - almost expect the bloody house to shoot across the yard, down the hill into the fields and start doing laps.
          Not sure if we're going to the Woodstock Farmer's Market today, like we usually do, because the road conditions aren't that great and I'm OK with that, I've got a lot of projects here to keep me busy for the day, shucks and gee whiz, not just a day - looks more like a life-long project I've somehow back-paddled into.  One thing about living on a small farm, if a person can't find something to do, they've got a serious problem or just a big dose of laziness, which is most likely the real reason.  Yesterday, I was up at my friend George's place helping (not even sure if that is the proper word to use since he's a master woodworker and is doing most of the work, while I stand and watch and learn) to laminate some boards for the shelving we're going to be erecting in Sarah's pantry, which is the size of a small bedroom.  Since there's so much stuff stuffed into the room already, can hardly walk into it, I'm not quite sure where we'll put the shelves - maybe outside the window - no, not a good idea, they'd just fill up with snow.
          This blog is beginning to sound like a politician is writing it - spouts off a whole lot but never really says much.  So far all I've written about is basically the weather.  Perhaps I should throw in a little drama, a touch of hot sex, a mystery, a touch of magic or a love story.  Oddly enough, all those things I just mentioned occasionally occur around this little farm.  However, since 90% of that happens mostly in the chicken coop, it doesn't really make for a good story or even an intriguing rumour.
           Time to give my cold fingers a break, tapping on a keyboard in a cold room doesn't do much good for the arthritis or is it rheumatism - doesn't matter which I guess - my bloody hands just ache, especially my left one.  Uh, oh - see Sarah has fired up the old diesel "Buddy", looks like we're heading to the big town of Woodstock - time to go!
          Whoops - it wasn't Buddy I heard - it was Bobby's plough-truck.  After ploughing away the snow, clearing the immediate yard and driveway, Bobby and I went inside for a cup of coffee.  Unfortunately, since I'm not much of a coffee drinker, it turns out I'm not much of a coffee maker either - I had coffee grit in the coffee maker, on the counter and on the floor and in Bobby's cup, it wasn't even drinkable - made one hell of a mess.  However, when Sarah got out of bed and discovered the mess I'd made, she told me to just sit down, relax and visit while she perked the coffee.  Since, it was almost 10:30am when Bobby left, although the roads are fine, we decided it was too late to drive into town - so my one day a week to the Farmer's Market was cancelled.  But that's alright, I've just thrown some wood into the wood stove and I can hear it crackling - won't be long before the studio is as cosy as a wolf's den - time to howl with delight - nothing like being warm and snug on a cold January day - cheers, eh!
       
           
         

THREE OLD FARTS AND A DOG

          Yesterday - like most days in many ways, would be chalked up to not doing anything what some people would consider being great, not much of an accomplishment - I didn't strap on an Uzi and take out 20 terrorists single-handed, didn't climb up a180' ladder to rescue a family from an apartment that was engulfed in flames and didn't set out on a solo trip around the world paddling a 40' log - nope - I didn't do any of those things.  In many respects, by some, my day would have been of the same importance as hanging on a clothesline like a load of forgotten laundry.  But you know, for this old guy, doing just about anything that's above ground is an achievement of sorts.  I have no idea how many days are remaining before someone grabs a shovel and starts filling in my 6' deep personal hole, the one that will be home to my aching old bones for eternity or until someone declares, "Have you ever noticed that most all the cemeteries are located on hills and have great views?  We should move all those moldy old graves to another location and build some high-rises or better yet; a shopping mall."
          It was cold yesterday, snot flowing rapidly from my flaring nostrils that would have made a bull proud, as I tromped through the forest with two of my friends, George Probst and Gary Stairs.  Some people believe that if you put your thoughts out into the Universe, whatever it is that's wished for, will happen.  Hell, what I know about the Universe would half fill a thimble but I did mention to Gary that I was planning on building a tepee this summer, so lo and behold wouldn't you know it, if he and George didn't show up, not even a week later, declaring, "Let's go get your poles,."  So off we go, three old farts and a dog - not sure if the dog was the youngest one or not, but like my friends, Jack the dog was great company.
          Although Gary has a truck with a backseat and my body still hasn't quite filled out to twice its size because I'm doing more eating these cold days than actually physically working, I found sharing the seat with Jack the bird dog a touch cramped and on the way back home, not only found it cramped but painfully cramped - it just wasn't like the old days, when I was as supple as a newly born maple twig and we could have fit five more people beside me and a skinny girl on my lap.  Driving along the winding country roads was beautiful and as we passed alongside the lake, I noticed a lot of footprints in the snow leading away from the shore; the ice being thick enough to drill a hole through it and fish.   A few huts could be seen on the ice; most likely filled to the brim with a few fishermen sharing a bottle of Jack Daniels and telling lies about the whoppers they caught ice-fishing over the years.
          After Gary parked the truck, he grabbed a chainsaw, George took hold of a long telescopic saw and as for me, I grabbed a small axe.  Shortly after George disappeared into his woodlot that adjoined Gary's, Gary began dropping straight spruce trees that were about 23' long with the chainsaw.  The trees he chose were for the most part, dead standing trees that had yet to start rotting, which was good, not only because he wasn't wasting any of the young trees but because they were already dried out, just some limbs to knock off and bark to peel.  Now trying to drag a long tree out of the forest to the roadway, even though it wasn't heavy still takes a bit of doing - try finding a straight line from A to B when the trees, stiff as death, hardly bend.  Although the temperature was a little below zero, not quite freeze your ass off in 3 minutes, it wasn't long before this old guy was sweating as I whacked off the limbs and stacked the trees along the edge of the road.  As it turned out, dragging the trees out of the forest wasn't the hardest problem; hauling them down the road proved a touch difficult.  Under the ankle-deep snow, the road was like a skating rink and it wasn't long before my feet shot out from under me and landed heavily on my back.  Pain shot up and down my back as fast as a guitar-picker in a rock band and when Gary watched how slowly I picked myself up off the ice, he asked how I was and like most men, somewhat embarrassed by their clumbsiness, wanting to keep what little macho charisma I had remaining,  I just smiled and said I was fine.
          Just as we were about finished harvesting the poles, a Ranger drove up.  Now, I've been living in New Brunswick for almost 2 years, tramped through the forest a fair bit and had yet to see a Ranger.  I almost felt guilty seeing some big guy, dressed in a uniform, coming towards me but after we all got into a chin-wagging session, things seemed more like a good-old-boys reunion.  The funny thing is though, the Ranger no sooner left and then a second one appeared.  Now three old guys working in the bush don't need a reason to take a break but the Rangers, although neither one had much to converse about, the short time was spent amiably and gave me time to catch my breath and let the sweat dry.
          Well, that's about it for yesterday; after the pole-getting session, I took it easy, even laid on the couch later that night and watched a funny movie with my wife after the kids had gone to bed.  Today, after I finish writing this blog, it will be time for me to feed and water the livestock, then head up to George's to work on the pantry we're building for my wife.  Thought my back might be aching like hell this morning but it's actually feeling not too bad.   It's supposed to snow a fair amount today or so I heard, and I suspect those poles lying by the side of the road will be covered by the time I get back - still have to figure out how to get them home.  We have a good honkin'-big diesel truck but it's only got a 6' box; a little more than just short for 23' poles - guess I'll have to see about borrowing a trailer from my neighbour Clayton Clarke - like George and Gary - he's also a good friend.  Cheers, eh!  

DR. ZHIVAGO, ELVIS PRESLEY AND FREYA

          So far, it's the winter of the silent snow; New Brunswick farmers' lament.  Like many places the world over, which depend on winter's moisture, without snow and ice, the land tends to blow away with the howling winds and it's no different here where some of the land is totally bare; not even a hardy weed to be seen.  Snow isn't much of a concern for us at the base of Green Mountain because most of the ground is covered with grass, shrubs and trees; our garden patch still containing last summer's weeds is hardly threatened.  Although a skiff of snow is covering most everything, the ground is frozen and as solid as a rock and the weather forecast isn't predicting any warmth for our area; believe me when I say, we're not exactly having a heat wave; the average temperature is sitting around -10C.  I believe the temperature is supposed to dip down to around -23 to -27C this evening, so I expect I'll be snuggling more than usual with the wife tonight, which is great; actually most enjoyable - but enough about this freezing weather - all it does is make my joints ache all the more.
          Must be cold in my studio because I'm sitting here at the computer wearing a coat, and under that a thick wool Cowichan Indian sweater, another sweater and a thick flannel shirt.  My fingers are a touch numb but it's difficult to type while wearing gloves.  I haven't been home much today so I don't feel like starting the wood stove for just a few hours that I may or may not be here.  If the windows were caked in ice, I'd feel like Dr. Zhivago in the ice palace.  Actually, I found one of the scenes in that movie to be a touch unreal - the one where Omar Sharif (Dr. Zhivago) wipes the hoarfrost off the desk and begins writing his Lara poems with a pen and ink - haven't been able to figure out why the jar of ink wasn't frozen solid - a case of artistic license I guess.  The first time I watched Dr. Zhivago was at a movie theatre and since then, it's been one of my favourite movies, and I have no idea how many times I've watched it since then.  Winter is a good time to settle back on the couch with a hot drink and watch a movie but when you have kids and they want to watch the Lion King and the Smurfs for the 78th time, sitting here in the cool studio ranting away on my blog seems a better option.  On that note, Christmas holidays finally ended today and with the kids returning back to school, Sarah and I may be able to get a chance to snuggle up on the couch with a hot drink and watch something a touch more suitable, like an old Elvis Presley movie - just kidding - hated them when they first came out and still don't care to see one.
          Had a chance to go ice fishing for the first time in my life the other day but wouldn't you know it, I was too busy and couldn't make it - hope they come by again and ask.  I guess the ice along the edge of the lake is 8 - 9" thick and getting thicker - safe enough to get out the ice auger, drill a hole in the ice and sit in a hut with a couple of friends - nothing much better than sipping whiskey and telling lies - and believe me, I've got a lot to tell.  I've always enjoyed having fish for supper and nothing tastes much better in my opinion than a freshly caught pan-sized rainbow trout and then frying it in a bit of butter - mmm - making me salivate like a hungry old hound dog just thinking about it.
          Our free-range chickens are not so free-range at the moment - ever try to round up some white leghorns in the snow - dang hard to see.  However, that's not the reason I don't let them go outside - it's just so cold that all they tend to do is stand around huddling together for a little warmth since the ground is frozen too hard to scratch.  And, when it gets real cold, I think some of them get a natural brain freeze, because they don't always seem to find their way back into the coop before it gets dark.  Of course, when that happens, I have to go find them and put them in - not sure if they are clucking happily or not when I pick them up but like it or not, with predators prowling around in search of an easy meal, outside the coop is not a good place for a chicken to be at night.  Some of our neighbours have been asking us if we have meat-birds so I'm considering building another chicken coop with a large outdoor pen to keep them separate from the other chickens if we get some.  It actually seems like a good idea even if we don't sell too many because at least we know the chickens will be well fed on healthy and natural food - may weigh a little less than the store bought ones but better for us to eat.  I've scrapped the idea of raising rabbits for meat since an old farmer told me he used to do it but no one ate them except "foreigners"  Not sure if he was referring to people like me who recently came from the west coast of Canada or people from other countries - either way, rabbits are out - now ducks seem a good idea - have to think about that for awhile too because maybe "foreigners" are the only people that eat duck eggs.
          Freya the goat is bleating for her dinner.  Since she's round as a barrel, most definitely pregnant with a kid or two or three, I best get at it - cheers, eh!.
       
       
             

HERE'S TO THE MOMENT!

          Happy New Year all!
 
          New Year's eve was quiet here on Golden Unicorn Farm.  As it turned out, Sarah's kids stayed overnight with friend's of theirs, so it was just the wife and I, a bottle of bubbly, lots of goodies to nibble on and a new couch to break in (wink, wink) - a very satisfying night, even though we didn't quite stay awake to celebrate the entrance of the New Year.  T'is the time for making resolutions and although I'm not in favour of such delusions of actually following through, it might be a good idea to make a few and at least try to live up to the odd one, especially since I have so much to do this year.
          When I woke up this morning, I hate to admit it, but I actually felt old, as old as water and dirt - farted bubbles and dust.  Since putting my back out on Christmas evening from doing something as simple as bending over, I'm still aching pretty much everywhere.  Although I'm getting around good, I have a few somewhat laborious chores to attend to, which I'm deliberately putting off for a little while longer, just in case my back packs it in once again and then I could be really hooped, unable to do anything for perhaps a long time.  Falling down at my age is most likely not a good thing to do; bones are as brittle as uncooked noodles.  And, I did have a fall recently - while taking Luki's dog food to him, both feet suddenly shot out from under me; being unsuspectingly airborne for a split second, not even a chance to slightly recover, dog dish and food scattering everywhere, I came down hard; right next to a big boulder - hate to think what sort of shape I'd be in now, if I had landed on it; probably make my sore back seem like a very petty injury.
          This getting old is not what I had intended when I was young.  Of course, being young, agile, virile, seemingly immune to injury, I never really considered getting old; at least not much further than 40.  Even though I could see my reflection in the mirror changing over the years, old age was just one of those things that gradually just snuck up on me; wrinkles appearing where the skin used to be smooth; brown hair turning white; baggy eyes, saggy muscles - can hardly believe what Sarah's teenage niece said to me one day, when we went swimming at a lake and she stared at my chest, "Looks like you could wear B cups?"  I was about to make a snide remark back, since she was almost flat in that area but thought better of it - the truth hurt!
          I watched a movie the other day (forgot the name of it - seems like my memory is going south too).  It was about a guy, a good looking middle-aged guy, who one day just up and walked out on his wife and two daughters.  He admitted that he didn't like aging and that was the reasoning why he went from one much younger woman to the next.  I sometimes wonder if subconsciously that was my reasoning so many years ago, when I did much the same thing.  Over the years, quite a few women have accused me of being cursed with the Peter Pan syndrome - acting like a boy - never growing up - always acting immature.  Also, speaking about younger women, my wife Sarah is 25 years younger than me.  It's a funny thing about age though; this growing old; a lot of people swear that having kids around, keeps you feeling young but being there myself, I can tell you that it's just a crock.  If anything makes me feel old, it's watching someone young doing all the things I used to be able to do easily; their energy and vitality way beyond this old guy's reach; I don't even pretend to keep up.  But as odd as it may seem, I sometimes think of myself as the old bull standing with a younger bull looking down on a herd of cows munching away in a pasture.  There is a certain amount of wisdom that comes with age, so when the young bull said, "Let's run down the hill and f__k one."  The old bull raised an eyebrow and replied, "Let's just walk down and f__k 'em all!"
          Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I sometimes see the younger Lenny looking back; especially if I take my glasses off - certainly makes a big difference.  Although the white is now somewhat bloodshot, I still have the same old dog shit-brown eyes and they haven't lost their sparkle.  I realize a lot of people thought Sarah and I were foolish to marry because of the large age difference, and believe me, we almost didn't because of that very reason.  But when she said to me, "If we have even 5 years of happiness together, it'll be worth it" and after some consideration, I agreed.  Why just last night, New Year's eve, while sipping on a cool glass of champagne, since our 5th Anniversary is coming up in July, we chatted about that very conversation.  I've come to the conclusion that age and years have nothing much to do with anything - we all just live in the moment and that moment can end forever at any time.  And, if that is the case, then what I say is, grab that moment, seize that moment by it's scrawny neck, and live that moment; live it like it's the last moment because we never really know when that last moment will be.  I have taken part in people's very last moments - have actually watched their eyes dim, the sparkle of life disappear and then used my fingers to gently shut them.  Actually, after typing that last sentence, wondering how to finish off this blog, I could make a resolution and not just one for this year but every year - lifting my glass high this New Year, 2012 day - my toast is this - "Here's to the moment!" - Cheers, eh!