Tiny New Year

(Blast from the past -- This post was written in early January and temporarily forgotten!)

January is full of tiny joys, the time of year when you feel the pause after the party, the quiet after the rush, the simple after the lavish.   The seemingly still landscape reveals small wonders.  Today's tiny things for me included the joy of whisking bread crumbs off the wooden cutting board onto the snow by the kitchen door for the Juncos and sparrows; the pleasure of eating a small bowl of warm oatmeal with my True Love at the kitchen counter; watching the sun come out after the snow, clearing the sky momentarily to blue dazzlement;  watching a dust devil whisk glittering snowflakes into a fairy spiral in the air, only for an instant.  The quiet of the house seeps in; the voice of the wind sings its ancient song, cutting runes in the snow; the cats curl and nap; and peace settles in my heart, knowing the day lies open to be filled with words.

This morning, just after sunrise, as Kate and I walked against the biting wind to the bus stop, we tucked our heads against a buffetting zephyr and spotted our cat, Chubby, astride our boots.  Oh no!  The one cat who follows, puppy-like, and has no sense of cars managed to sneak out behind us on our way towards the road at rush hour.  I spied the old greenhouse down the hill, scooped up the cat, and tucked him in amongst the dead weeds and dry perennial herb stalks.  He'd be safely contained there for 15 minutes away from the rushing traffic.  When I came back, he was happy to be picked up and cuddled, and expressed his gratitude by purring and rubbing against my parka.  Nuzzling his warm fur, I inhaled sage and catnip, the scents of summer he had encountered in his captivity.  Add another tiny joy to the morning.

A stop in at Soulstice to draw water into two plastic watering cans and snatch a bag of vegetable scraps from the kitchen sink, and my dog and I were back out in the wind heading for the barn.  In their cozy coop, the hens attacked the carrot chunks, parsnip peels and turnip tops while I cleaned and filled their water fount, topped off the feeder and stuffed new hay into their nests.  Standing back for a moment, just taking in the fluffy golden hens busily scratching, pecking, commenting in their growling, clucking voices brought a glow of satisfaction.  One hen scrambled up into the manger, where the 5 gallon buckets and loose hay offered inviting nesting places.  She purred and chuckled as she settled into a lofty pile of new hay, apparently finding the fresh bedding irresistible.  Mark the industry and vigor of the hens as another tiny pleasure -- just a moment in the day.

Today's chore of cleaning out the pantry, culling withered sweet potatoes and soft onions, combining half-full boxes of potatoes, and removing the last butternut squash from a bushel basket led to the discovery of various root vegetables that needed to get used up.  So dinner consisted of Trader Joe's Vegan Chorizo , mashed potatoes and a variety of veggies roasted using Ina Garten's recipe.  The joy of fresh space and order in the pantry, the joy of dinner inspiration upon finding veggies that needed a purpose, mingled with the joy of hungrily nibbling hot sweet potatoes fresh from the oven with David. We have been carefully cutting back our diets to lose a few winter pounds, so when dinnertime comes, we are famished.  And food becomes more potent -- the need fulfilled satisfies more deeply than a whim entertained.

The pleasure of dining at the kitchen counter with David and Kate; the contentment of our warm Soulstice on a cold, snowy, blowy night; the knowledge that our butternut squash, sweet potatoes, and mashed taters came from the now-frozen earth just down the hill from Soulstice nourished my soul.  In fact, I had just the day before walked my garden cart down through the garden gate and loaded it with 10 pounds of carrots, 5 pounds of turnips and rutabagas, a grocery bag of kale with snippets of oregano and cutting celery, and several pounds of parsnips.  The heavy tines of the digging fork that had stuck in frozen earth earlier were able to pierce the now soft mud and pry out some experimental parsnips.  Though I planted them in July, much later than recommended, the cool, rainy weather favored them, and the earth offered up surprisingly thick 10-inch roots, sweetened by the winter weather and untroubled by the many frozen nights.  I had to cut off the top inch or two of most of the carrots as they had been frozen with the earth.  But the hens loved the soft (unspoiled) carrot tops, and the rest of the roots are sweet, juicy and delicious raw.

As I look ahead, I can see winter stretching  out, garden planning, seed ordering, reading and considering new strategies for our homestead.  But for now, I will just relish the moment and the tiny joys of January.

May your winter be blessed with many tiny joys.
Betsy