Snow Angels, Roosters, and Other Winter Lessons

One of the things I love about living in Tennessee is getting all four seasons. Sometimes we get all four in the same week just for shits and giggles.

At the end of January we got over a foot of snow. Not the good snowman kind. This was powder, the kind that squeaks under your boots and blows around like flour. Great for skiing. Great for snow angels.

Which is how I ended up making a snow angel named Stan immediately after stepping out of the sauna.

It felt like a great idea for about three seconds. Then reality hit. Snow is cold. Very cold. And yes, somewhere during the creation of Stan, I peed myself a little. I’m not proud, but I’m also not ashamed. I totally earned that pee spot.

The big dogs loved it. The little dogs refused to participate. Potty breaks became negotiations. The chickens didn’t come out until I carved little paths for them, which told me everything I needed to know about how they feel about winter.

The Rooster Reckoning

We started the season with four roosters and a hopeful belief that they could coexist peacefully.

They could not.

Before long they were fighting nonstop. Feathers flying, blood everywhere, roosters limping back to the coop like tiny feathered action heroes. If they weren’t attacking each other, they were chasing hens. The girls started hiding, losing feathers, and slowing down on egg production.

That was the point where the decision made itself.

Chicken Hawk and Ginger Roony couldn’t stop fighting. Prince Charming turned out to be mean to the hens. Larry, the smallest and quietest, got the pass. He’s also the ugliest, but apparently that works in his favor.

I have a hard time killing anything especially once I name it, so Dennis handled it quickly and humanely. Two roosters went into the freezer. We had chicken and noodles for dinner that night.

The flock settled almost immediately. The hens are laying again. Larry is still figuring out how to do what roosters do. The younger hens listen to him. The older ones ignore him or peck him when he gets too confident.

Leadership is tough.

I don’t enjoy the processing part of raising food, but there’s something grounding about knowing exactly where dinner came from.

Snowed In and Slightly Overfed

Being snowed in meant baking. Lots of baking.

It also meant discovering that my jeans no longer button once the weather warmed up. Adulting really is just a series of consequences.

My sourdough hates cold weather. The rise is sad, but the flavor is good. I’ll take it.

Licensed and Mostly Clueless

While stuck inside, I also earned my Technician and General ham radio licenses.

I’m excellent at cramming for tests and equally talented at immediately forgetting everything afterward, so now I hold two licenses for equipment I barely understand.

I learn by doing, so I bought a handheld radio and started pushing buttons. Turns out ham radio is an expensive hobby, so the fancy desk setup will have to wait.

Right now I mostly hear police chatter and construction guys. I haven’t made contact with anyone yet. Apparently I need to program local repeaters, which is sitting on my to-do list somewhere between “learn what this button does” and “stop accidentally changing settings.”

I wanted ham radio mostly for emergencies. When Hurricane Helene came through, we lost power and had no idea what was going on. A hurricane in Tennessee wasn’t on my bingo card, but here we are.

Romance Looks Like Compost

Valentine’s Day came in the form of a huge raised garden bed and a truckload of composted cow manure.

Honestly, that feels like real love.

Dennis built the bed, and we’ve been filling it up. I started plants for the garden this weekend and don’t think I over did it too much. I also rescued four muscadine grape vines from Lowe’s at the end of last season. Not my favorite grape, but they survive here and come back every year, which earns them a spot.

This year I’m adding burdock root. Supposedly nutritious, supposedly invasive, supposedly three feet long underground. Ever heard of it?

The hydroponic starts struggled through the freeze. Water temps in the 40s, air temps in the single digits. Now that things are warming up, they finally look like actual plants instead of a failed science experiment. Next year I’m starting earlier.

Maggie Gets A Job

The woman I sit with for hospice moved into a nursing home, and it’s hard to be there.

There’s nothing dramatic about it. Just a quiet heaviness. People reaching for your hand. Looking into your face, hoping you’re the one they’ve been waiting for.

Sometimes I am, at least for a little while.

I’m going to start bringing Maggie with me once her no-pull harness arrives. She’s a tough girl and not exactly fluent in “leash manners.” At seventy pounds, she can pull me over if she decides something is worth investigating, and when she gets excited, personal space becomes optional.

Naturally, my imagination has been wildly supportive. I picture her launching herself onto an elderly person, knocking them flat. Inhaling someone’s lunch in a single gulp. Or squatting in the middle of the hallway like she’s claiming new territory.

She is usually well behaved. Usually. But she has been known to perform random acts of weirdness with zero warning, so I suppose we’ll all find out together how this goes.

Wildlife and Other Side Quests

I’ve been helping a local wildlife rehabber get her 501(c)(3) set up so she can apply for grants instead of paying for everything out of pocket. She’s been doing this work for over twenty years and never had time for the paperwork.

She’s already hinted that I’ll be helping when baby animals start coming in. I’m completely on board for possums and squirrels.

Dennis is less enthusiastic.

At least they eventually go back into the wild, which makes them better houseguests than most.

Winter, Wrapped Up

So that’s life lately. Nothing perfectly polished, but plenty happening.

Winter always feels endless while you’re in it. Then one day the snow melts, the sun comes out, and you realize you made it through another season.

That’s what’s been happening over here. What about you?

Grow wild,

Stacey