The forecast was for 3-6 inches of snow, but it looks like they were off by about a foot. That’s not what I asked for! I’ve got to get to where that blue arrow points and the tallest boots I have are rain boots, so I layer on wool socks. It is 11am by the time I decide I can no longer put off collecting eggs. Don’t want them freezing! (But I procrastinate a little longer by chopping up fresh green beans to take to the hens.)
Leaving the house, I drag a 3×3 rubber mat I’ve been meaning to add for traction on the sloped entrance in front of the coop. Only a few steps into the yard and I’m zapped by snow around me throwing itself into my knee-high boots! After a freezing hike to the chicken yard in which I find my voice is impulsive thrusting out “It’s so cold! It’s so cold!” over and over, I notice my trusty shovel is missing. Did I bring it inside by accident last night?
I kick around the snow and then hit something hard. Yup. It’s under a foot and a half of snow. I did not bring snow gloves so I kick the handle up with my boot and catch the wet icy handle in my bare hands.
I fling snow left and right to make way for the gate to open. As I look at the cleared area, my satisfaction is met by a mental picture of the other side of the gate. The snow clinging onto the fence doesn’t allow me to see what awaits, but I suspect there might be a similar load packed on the other side.
There it is. My toes and calves are freezing. The chickens are clamoring at the door of their run. They THINK they want to go outside, but they never do when confronted by the snow. (Except for Marshmallow — ironically, the only warm-weather breed I have that is not suited for winter!)
The temperature inside the coop reads 34°F. There are only 2 eggs tucked away in a corner, which means I’ll need to come back out later to check again. They are still warm and that’s a good sign they aren’t frozen. I stick them in my pocket, I throw a handful of chopped up fresh green beans into the run, and I close up shop. My toes are begging for the indoors!
As I trudge back to the house, stepping into foot-deep footprints from my morning’s trek out, my mind is tempted to complain about the conditions I’m “forced” to work in, but then I remember… I signed up for this. I’m living exactly what I prayed for.
