An Essay: First Snow
/The days before the first snow at the farm are full of activity. The staff scrambles around the farm tucking away tools, winterizing machinery, and stacking firewood. The animals need to be moved to their winter homes, old barn windows need to be sealed, the last leaves need raking, and every last hose needs to be located and drained and wound up and put away and we rush to get it all finished before dark! And then everything is done. The first flakes of the season fell last night. They were welcomed by a farm ready for a winter’s rest.
I arrived early this morning to a peaceful, snowy farm. Jack and Thor the oxen are in their winter quarters. They don’t seem to mind the snow. They are much more interested in who will bring them breakfast and just how soon it will arrive. The sheep are in the next barn over. They have all spent the night inside and their fleecy bodies have made the barn toasty. The majority of our ewes are pregnant and the barn will be full of bouncing baaing lambs come March. But for now, the sheep barn is still and quiet.
The Garden seems quiet too, but beneath this first sprinkling of snow a few crops still think it is summer. When I peak under a plastic tunnel, I find lettuce still lush and ready for harvest. If I wanted to, I could dig down in the soil and find carrots sweetened by the cold (I do not want to, it is too early in the morning to eat carrots). These and other hardy vegetables I expected to find still thriving in the garden. But I am surprised and delighted to also discover some cheerful pansy faces in new winter caps, undaunted by the cold.
The promise of new growth is hidden everywhere in the garden right now: buds have already formed on blueberry branches, garlic bulbs beneath a layer of straw are sending tiny roots down into the soil, and sturdy, smooth raspberry canes promise heavy yields in the coming year.
The path to the pond tells a story in footprints of animals exploring in the night. One of the farm cats took a stroll across our new bridge to the pond. A bird took off from the ground here, someone was digging with little paws there. The pond is a beautiful mirror of the gray sky and leafless branches. The stream that runs from the pond into the forest is low, exposing rich green mossy rocks.
I could follow the path into the forest, up the hill and down the road, all the way around to our sugar bush. The sugar maples there have feasted all summer long on sunlight and now they are fat with sugar. They are waiting for the bright and chilly days of February and March to send that sugar running up to their crowns. I am waiting too, sugaring season is one of my very favorite times of year.
As I make my way back towards the farm, I look up and find our new program buildings framed by the opening in the trees. They are nearly complete, the last details coming together just in time for this first snow.
For now, these buildings are empty. Unscuffed, flawless and bare but full of awesome potential. In the spring, they will be filled with children. Bunkbeds with blankets thrown back, boots and jackets dripping in the mudroom, a kitchen bursting with dishes and snacks and joy! We have never had heated sleeping facilities before at the farm, our programs had to end when the warm weather did. Next year, for the first time in Red Gate’s history, school groups will be here to help lambs be born, to tap maple trees and boil syrup, to witness the blueberry buds burst into flower and the first green shoots erupt from the soil.
It is a quiet, snowy day at the farm. But I feel and see nascent potential all around. The animals, the garden, the forest, and the new program building and dormitory are all whispering about the year to come. A year full of growth, and discovery, and hard work, and fun.
