A Simpler Life?

Once upon a time, in my former life in Urban America, my morning consisted of waking up in my comfortable, oil-heated home, rising from bed, walking downstairs into my kitchen, grinding some Starbuck's French Roast coffee beans and turning on the coffee maker, letting the dogs outside for their morning biz, fixing myself a large cup of coffee and retreating to the living room to watch CNN until I needed to shower and get about my daily business, which pretty much consisted of work (the majority of the time) or running errands and lounging around the house.

Fast forward two years.  We have relocated to the North Country to live a "simpler" life, away from the traffic, constant working, angry, harried people and our disconnected, imbalanced life.  What does a "typical" December morning consist of now?  I wake up in the wee hours of the morning (although I've been doing that since I was in my mid-30s), roll out of bed into the rather brisk air of our bedroom (usually 59-60 degrees by early morning), stumble downstairs in the dark with 3 dogs under foot, flip on the side yard light to let any lingering creatures (rabbits, deer, porcupines) know that the 3 beasts are about to be released and, standing on the ice cold tiles of the mudroom in my now numbed, bare feet, open the sliding glass to release the hounds.  I then return to the kitchen to flip on the coffee pot, put on socks, and immediately stoop to build a fire in the wood stove.  Once the fire is crackling and popping, I let in the dogs and sit down with a cup of coffee and a book in the leather chair next to the fire.  In December, this rest period lasts until almost 7pm (although I also feed the dogs, let Louie, the ferret, run around the house for a bit, water our 2 Christmas trees, eat some breakfast, etc.).

When the grey light of dawn appears, it's time to bundle up, brave the cold, and tend to the chickens and sheep.  What had been a pleasant, rather quick round of morning chores in the spring, summer and fall, has become a bit more trying and time-consuming.  Let's not even talk about how such chores progress on mornings when snow removal factors into the mix!  In early December, the morning routine involves flipping on heat lamps, often struggling with frozen latches and gates, multiple trips to the coops to bring out fresh, warm water, and providing at least double (if not triple) the amount of chicken feed to the hens to keep their metabolism up and churning to produce the increased body heat needed to sustain them in freezing temps.  Then comes the long, long walk across the frozen tundra (i.e., the garden and orchard area in warmer days) to the sheep barn.  This either involves thigh burning struggles through feet of snow or a badly choreographed skating routine across the endless ice. 

Once I finally make it winded, and feeling every minute of my 48 years, to the sheep barn, I open the doors to my 3 lovely little balls of fleece, who regardless of the temperature, come bounding out of the barn ready for their breakfast.  But now, rather than providing some handfuls of sweet feed and sending them out into green pasture, I have to load up the manger with hay (2nd cut hay mind you; we tried feeding them 1st cut and they staged a hunger strike and insisted on "grazing" on the few blades of grass sticking up through the snow and glaring at me with accusatory eyes.  Needless to say, I conceded and they are back to eating 2nd cut hay; undoubtedly they will require Weight Watchers by the time spring rolls around), clean out the water container (which now sits on a heat pad to prevent freezing), and clean out the piles of poo in the barn, which by virtue of the early sunset and late sunrise results in the sheep being in the barn for an additional 6-7 hours per day and LOTS more poo.  Cleaning out the soiled hay and poo consists of scooping the soiled material into a very large dog poop scooper (wheel barrows do not work well in the frozen tundra), and risking my neck to slide across the ice over to the manure pile and tossing the crap into the growing pile.  Repeat process 3 to 4 times.  Then, I have to lay down a fresh layer of straw to absorb today's round of peep and poops (this hopefully prevents any respiratory ailments that can arise from the sheep being contained in a damp, ammonia filled barn).  When the sheep are happily munching away on their hay, I trudge my way back across the desolate expanse to the house. 

Am I done yet?  No.  If the morning is not too cold (i.e., anything above 20 degrees), then I have to carry, one at a time, MadeIt and Daisy 2 outside -- slipping and sliding down the icy pathway to their coop area. 

Then, finally, 30 minutes later, I'm back into my now toasty kitchen for another quick jolt of coffee and then, if its a weekday, off to work.

Is this a simpler life?  Not feeling like it right now.  But most mornings, feeding some happy hens and sheep still seems more satisfying than sitting in traffic.