Life wasn't designed for tepid showers

Turn on the steam

This morning when I woke up, there were only five degrees outside. That's not very many degrees - fully 65 fewer than my ideal.

Even before cracking an eye or looking out the window, I knew it was a special kind of frigid beyond the glass. There's a certain crackling silence that expands to fill every space when it's that cold. Nothing was stirring outside. It felt like waking up on the moon.

My bedroom could be the same temperature as it is in the middle of summer, but there was something about knowing how painfully cold it was outside that made it harder to urge myself out from under the covers. I knew I'd have to go out there eventually, and there's no one to blame but myself.

I choose the life of an urban farmer, and I also choose to live in Colorado. So, it follows that there are days when, by virtue of those two other choices, I decide to go outside in the kind of temperatures that attack any exposed skin with a biting vengeance.

When it's below ten degrees, the cold slips icy knife fingers between the seams of your clothing as if Edward Scissorhands is trying to disrobe you in the middle of the yard. There's not really a lot you can do about it besides repeat to yourself, "I choose this," and lean into the temporary nature of the cold. Luckily, while stomping around in the snow, watching the steam unfurl from the roof of the house, I knew it was temporary.

Days like today are the ones that make me ask important life questions like, "What the hell, exactly, am I doing?"

Hauling another bucket of warm water through the snow to the pasture, the voluntary nature of this endeavor snapped into sharp focus. But, I kept going and pulled a speckled green egg out of the nesting box before it froze solid and exploded. Then, after taking a long drink of warm water, one of the goats came over to give me a sloppy kiss, and I remembered what the hell, exactly, I am doing.

Being an urban farmer means I'm doing it on the perfect days as well as the frigid days. I don't get the luxury of doing it when it's beautiful out if I'm not willing to do it when my eyelashes freeze together, too.

Days like today are a reminder that hard things are worth fighting for if you love them, even if it chills you to the bone.

Once I came inside from chores, it was time to warm up. On days like today, I like to take those showers that are so hot your skin prickles until it feels almost cold. Steaming showers are the best way to get rid of those shivers that permeate to your core.

Watching the news a few weeks ago, the anchor announced that hot showers have been added to the list of "things that are now bad for you, according to doctors." I turned off the tv because I don't need that kind of negativity in my life.

The news was right, though; apparently, dermatologists now recommend cool or tepid showers to prevent dry skin and are healthier. It seems like even the smallest indulgence is harmful. Lame.

I fed my animals in temperatures that are much colder than several of the research bases on Antarctica were today (this is true, I looked it up). That was followed by the kind of hot shower where the steam is so thick you can only see a few inches in front of you. I would pick this life every day over a life where every day is spent inside with tepid showers, even with perfectly moisturized skin.

Life is a study of contrasts. It takes working outside on the coldest days to fully appreciate the warmth from a good shower. I will take the frigid and the steaming - the hard and the tired, that cracking silence, and the gratification. Life wasn't designed for tepid showers.