When your digital thermometer won’t show a readout, it is a good morning to not ask the temperature! We rolled outside at the normal time, the full moon sliding down behind the rimrock, the sun not quite up enough to reach down here next to the creek… The moon was bright against the amethyst sky, crackling with frozen air crystals along the creekbank. Black cows stood still, heads down, held by a blanket of white snow that had been thrown over their backs overnight. My breath quickly frosted my hair. I felt the burning on my cheeks of super-chilled air, glad for the two hats I wore! We packed grain to the calves, the dogs accompanying us as usual, their faces decorated with hoarfrost as well. Boomer shows it best, against his black coat each rhinestone of snow, ice, and frost is highlighted. Elsa’s poor little face with its overexpressive eyes showed a slight misery as she shivered…a far flung experience from her Oklahoma upbringing. Lucas remains unfazed even as his dark eyelashes turned white. He remains in his element…even laying in the snow in the shade (!)… never shivering, never bothered except for his tender paw which he holds up as I haven’t booted him this morning. Vernon and I continue, staggering across the field – struggling to stay in the ruts of tractor or cattle to help blaze through the snow. We load the haywagon and proceed to feed. Vernon quickly becomes caked in frost as I hope the tractor’s heater will kick in eventually! But my hair remains frozen until “blessed sun!” arises and throws its weak beams through the glass and my cab begins to heat. It isn’t until we have finished feeding and have returned to the warmth of home when I dare to ask…the temperature? Ahhh. -38. Somethings are better to know after the fact!
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