You know that "Waiting for the World to Change" song, the one that seemed to be in every store and on every radio a few months ago, the one that managed to be both hopeful and incredibly, frustratingly, passive at the same time? Well, late fall is like that for me. I know it's coming: bared trees, icy slides down our hill to thump out the chunks in the animals' water buckets, icy slides down our treacherous Smead Hill Road, obsessively hovering over the thermometer and the woodstove. Winter is pretty darn "wintery" around here.
Now, I was raised in the warm, concrete flatlands of Florida, and so it is not entirely my fault that I have never-- never!-- made my peace with New England weather. Yes, the "change of seasons" is wonderous. I love the vibrancy and fullness of early fall and the wet, warm bounty of spring when one might dream-- actually dream-- of finally budding leaves. And summer, summer is lazy and "lamby" and green. But winter? I don't "get" winter. We can all cheer for hot cocoa (my kids certainly do.) and the cozy warmth of the woodstove. Sledding is great. (We have some wonderful hills for it) But all that would be so much better if it lasted no more than a week or two, maybe a month. By the dragging and bitter end of each winter I forget that I have known anything else, I am an expert at "closing off" and "layering" and "minimizing contact" and all those winter things that are no good for a soul.
They say the key is to get outside and make the most of it. So, once again, I'll be out there crunching around in my un-shepherdish, aluminum colored, moon boots and waiting for the world to change.
What about you? Any advice for a secretly (not SO secretly) wimpy ex-Floridian New England newbie shepherd?
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