One more snow story!

Can you stand yet another snow story?

I have found that enduring an initial challenge is tough but not the true test of survival. The consistent repeat of breakdowns, obstacles, and complications tries one’s patience until we hear ourselves proclaim, “Aagh, I can’t take anymore.”

It was there that I found myself this past weekend. The power (heat, water and lights) was out by late Friday night. On Saturday morning, I stood on the front porch and could no longer see the driveway, not even an outline, just one large expanse of field.

I thought about a lot of things, but kept remembering a favorite line by Jimmy Stewart in the movie Shenandoah (1965): "If we don't try, we don't do. And if we don't do; then why are we on this Earth?" Things could be much worse; things are much worse for thousands of people. What’s a little snow?

The tractor started, thank you, thank you! Paths were created around the yard for the dogs and a cleared walk from the woodshed to the house. I knew it would be days before I could get even the Subaru out, but breaking a path now would help later. I made it all the way to the Reva Road, but barely made it back home.

Time to set up the campsite indoors.

Flashlight, candles, good book, water in the bathtub, fire started and wood on the back porch: check, check and check.

The den would be perfect, if I could somehow keep the heat in and the cold air from the rest of the house out. We once had a door on that room and, believe me, replacing it has now become a top priority.

In the meantime hanging a blanket affixed with thumbtacks over the opening was just the ticket. The sofa was moved to a spot directly in front of the fireplace and life was good. OK, not so good, but certainly tolerable.

Oh, sure, I speculated about those who lived like this all the time and was grateful for Mr. Edison, and knowing my deprivation was only temporary.

The greater interest for me was the lack of communication with the rest of the world. No phones, TV, newspaper, Internet or visitors, now this was an idea worthy of contemplation. How many major events went unobserved, much less engaged in, at least not in a timely manner, by the uninformed rural masses?

Culpeper did not have its own newspaper until 1827; news was conveyed most often by word of mouth by travelers stopping at a local tavern. And, what if you did not get off the farm and into town for a month or more? One was simply occupied by the immediate concerns of family and daily life.

It makes one wonder just who supported such actions as the American Revolution or the American Civil War.




My challenges are not over, but it was time well endured.

Until next time, be well.

Memories of Sarah the Sow

Daylight was nowhere in sight, yet my three four-legged companions sent out an urgent call for me to arise from the comfort of my bed. No emergency, no prowlers and no wayward predators in the yard: the cat was simply in his usual “I’m hungry, now” mode and the dogs, well, who knows, it was just time to get going.

As the four of us were navigating the descent to the front door, I found myself reminiscing about all the wonderful animals in my life and what grand memories they had provided.

The variety of “critter” friends ran the gamut from cows to kittens and almost everything in between. At one time, I had three sows and one particular favorite named Sarah. They lived at the back of the farm on a cool wooded lot with a fresh stream running through the middle, until it was time to give birth.

Hogs generally have large litters of piglets and can inadvertently crush them during the first few days. In a determination to lose nary a one, the sows would be relocated to a barn building in close proximity to the house within a few weeks of the impending event.

Sarah, a large black and white hog, had long since lost her piglet cuteness. Hogs can be quite dangerous and especially protective of their young. Sarah weighed well over 200 pounds, had a big snout, big teeth and a hairy, scaly, dirt body. It was a really good thing that we had nurtured our relationship with her from the beginning.

During a lovely couple of weeks in May, Sarah was residing close by as we all anxiously awaited the delivery of her first litter. The thought has often crossed my mind that she did not know whether she was a hog or just one of the dogs.

She spent her nights in a sheltered-straw -filled pen that afforded her all the privacy an expectant mother could want. Though she could come and go at will, her days were occupied with the family pets, engaged in much of the dog-like activities.

It was not uncommon to spot her curled up together with the cats and dogs enjoying an afternoon nap or serving sentinel duty as the guardian of the estate.

Once, an unsuspecting stranger drove to the front of the sidewalk only to be unabashedly greeted by Sarah. Who knows what raced through his mind, but he never got out of the car and we never saw him again.

As the gestation period came to a close, Sarah was spending more and more time in her special place. She would daily rearrange the straw to make a more suitable place for the little ones. There was no question that she knew something important was about to happen.

The long-awaited birthing finally arrived and respecting her needs and instincts, we watched from a distance, at least for the first 24 hours.

Then, like any proud family, we took pictures and sent out announcements.

Until next time, be well.