Winter was my favorite time of the year when I was young. With a hot breakfast in my belly I would bundle up every morning and go outdoors to do my chores. We always had some combination of chickens, rabbits, hogs, and maybe cattle that needed water, feed and bedding. The air was so cold that nothing weak or dirty could live in it. The morning darkness held no fear for me like the darkness of nighttime did. And the sun always came up from behind the denuded woods in a spectacular display of brightly blended watercolors shining through the pen and ink forms of trunks, limbs and branches.
The small stock were always reluctant to be handled, but would tolerate my touch while they took their first long drinks of water after a long night of frozen thirst. The larger animals would initiate contact in their eagerness for fresh water and food. The hogs were always vocal and almost articulate in the morning as they roused themselves from their slumber piles.
The hardship of winter, the beauty of sunrise and the fellowship of farm animals, combined with the morning solitude to provide refuge for my adolescent anxieties. The colors and textures of sunrise, snow, wheat straw, cracked corn and rabbit fur fueled my foraging imagination. I experienced a great blessing of joy and peace in those fleeting moments between breakfast and boarding the school bus. But that was a long time ago.
In my Freshman year of High School I wrote an essay describing my great love for winter mornings outdoors. My English teacher submitted it to the local newspaper without my knowledge. I remember being more embarrassed than proud when they printed it. I had embellished just a little for effect, added some multi-syllabic adjectives that weren’t completely necessary and described some things about myself that I never expected anyone but the teacher to read. My mom clipped it from the newspaper 36 years ago. She gave me the clipping, along with some other “treasures” recently.
That little essay was the first and last thing I ever had “published”. I’ve got a great deal of catching up to do.
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Until recently I never could understand why you liked fall and winter so much but now I think I get and share many of your sentiments. Your description of going about your morning chores makes me somewhat jealous. I remember when we were little you commented on how we had become "city boys." While I lement none of the circumstances that made me that way I do envy the sense of purpose that starting your day with vital tasks must have brought. I feel that those are some of the things I miss most about being at home and wish I could bring myself to find here at school.
ReplyDeleteLove you Dad
Ben, thanks for being a follower of my blog. I try to write breifly and accessibly about topics that are inspirational. I often complained about frozen water dishes and frozen fingers. Sometimes the hogs knocked over their feed trough and once the cow stepped in the milk bucket. If you embrace the gifts that God has given you and give him all the glory you are as blessed as I ever was or will be.
ReplyDeleteLove, dad