Snowbound

Live on a farm, back a quarter-mile lane, in the flatlands of Ohio, and you learn to hunker down and wait when the snow falls and blows. We received twelve inches of snow yesterday afternoon and overnight. That's not the most we've had since living on the farm. But the northeast winds gusts are creating drifts that reach over the four-foot fence between the chicken yards. When we first moved to the farm, we went into shoveling mode as the snow fell and wind blew. I like to think we've become smarter over the years. Last evening, as the snow fell and the electricity flickered on and off, we filled buckets with water, retrieved the corded phone, gathered the flashlights and candles. We stoked the fire in the wood-burning stove. As nighttime fell, the two humans, two cats and three dogs gathered around the fire, read and talked. I was grateful for the electricity, the warmth, and that I had a Dana Stabenow novel to read.