Fantasy writing cottage in the woods? No, a Christmas tree ornament.
It’s New Year’s Eve. The tree is still up but other decorations are put away.
It was 7 degrees this morning when the sun woke me up, the second waking. The first waking was at 3 a.m. when the pilot left for the bus to the airport to take the small plane to get to the other airport from whence he will pilot the big plane to warm southern places through the first few days of 2014.
I waited till the temp climbed to 12 degrees to let the hens out of the coop and run, and I fed them a warm breakfast treat of oatmeal, yogurt and blueberries.
My birds have stopped laying in the short winter days, and as they finish losing feathers in their somewhat ill-timed moult. The barred rock on far right was the last to moult and she did so dramatically, with feathers all over the coop floor every morning. Her skin was showing in ugly bare patches that made me think of a half-plucked chicken heading for the oven. I’m not sure how she survived the recent bitter cold. She looks skinny, especially compared to the fluffy, fat buff orpingtons.
On the bright side of bitter cold, we have been able to skate on the pond. My skates are dull now, but as soon as I get them sharpened I will be blade-writing on ice again.