Breaking the ice - literally

On cotton ball goats and keeping perspective

The sun rose this morning to reveal a winter wonderland. My younger son, who doesn't understand how calendars work quite yet, plodded down the stairs to snuggle and asked, "is it Christmas?"

Waking up to a misty frigid morning with a three-year-old who wants nothing more than to curl up next to me, absorbing my love and that delicious early-morning heat trapped under the blankets, is a fleeting delight. I know that these are the moments I will miss most someday. So, I resisted the urge to run straight for the coffeemaker and tucked in to talk about Santa.

After the last ten long days (I took last week off this substack for work-work) where I spent a lot of time focused on politics - on tv, giving speeches, and writing my analysis - it feels good to reground into real life. When digging into turnout data finally gives way to sitting on a milk stool in front of an animal, the juxtaposition snaps what's important into focus.

After moving to the small farm, I noticed that my perspective on politics changed. Before we were here, my work was all-encompassing and felt like the most critical thing in the universe. I didn't understand how people could care about anything else.

Now I know existing in the natural world, food creation, tending animals, and slowing down with my sons, are what really matters. All politicos live in a world of extreme catastrophizing; no matter the election, this is the most important one of their lifetime.

But, living a life where creating the tangible requires a regular confrontation with mortality reminds me that no matter how the votes are cast, all our lives are actually dependent on the sun, rain, and the soil. What we’re fighting over at the ballot box matters, but it’s so easy to lose sight of what an awesome luxury it is to be alive at a time in history when that’s what people can care about.

I knew this morning that the cold outdoor work would start once I got the boys off to school. Every animal needs access to clean water all the time. As soon as the water ices over, we must ensure it's broken or melted to allow our animals a drink.

In the chaos of the last week, did I have the foresight to pull out the tank heaters I knew we would need to keep the water from freezing before the ice? HA. No.

So, I did what I do on cold days; I trudged through the snow to the water tanks and slammed my boot through the thin icy tops, shattering them. I'm not sure what it is about that crunch, but it's hugely satisfying. The goats each came up to drink, thanking me in their soundless but unmistakable looks of gratitude.

One of the best things about the cold is when the goats go "cotton ball." They puff up to trap an additional layer of warm air between their bodies and the freezing temps around them. Those goats who looked svelte and sleek just 50 degrees ago puff into fuzzy spheres that look like they're about to float off.

Although I know they're not doing it for my sake, it's a little easier to muster the will to open the door on a freezing day for chores when the beneficiaries look like stuffed animals.

As I write this, the misty, snowy chill is already giving way to the sun. The races have all been called. So, right now starts another in the long line of the most important election of our lifetime. I'll resist the urge to engage in it just yet.

Instead, I'll look for another puddle of water topped with a thin sheet of ice to crunch through with my boots. Then I'll run my fingers through the back of a fuzzy cotton ball with legs. I'll thank God for the sun, the snow, and the soil underneath it.

Then tonight, I'll tuck a little boy into bed and talk to him about Santa until his eyelids get heavy. Breaking the ice - that's what really matters.