Sturm und drang, from the German (which also gives us such useful words as angst) literally translates as storm and urge, storm and longing, or storm and impulse. Sounds about right for this time of year, when everyone seems to be thinking that if this bloody winter doesn't end soon we're all going to tear our hair out. I mean, how depressing does the farm look without a single green thing anywhere to be seen?
Looking west.
Looking south. You can see that not all the snow has quite melted yet. In town there are still huge heaps of it, slowly rotting away in enormous piles on street corners and in parking lots. Yes, yes, I'm well aware that snow doesn't rot, but after several months of sitting around, it's filthy and spongy and certainly appears to be rotting rather than melting. At this rate, it'll still be there in July.
Henhouse, to the southeast. I know the sky looks vaguely blue, but it's not. Just gray, gray, and gray.
The worst part is the winter quiet. No bird sounds, no insects, no frogs or bugs or crickets or anything peeping or croaking or chirping. Just dead quiet. So not only does everything look gray and brown and dead, but there's not a sound in the winter air except for the sound of winter itself--which would be the wind blowing wickedly across the fields and around the dead trees and the corners of the house and barn and whatever else it can scrape its talons over. That, and the occasional passing car.
Which is the reason all anyone wants to do is hibernate.
I've started a baby blanket. The pattern is the log cabin from Mason-Dixon Knitting; if you've tried this pattern, you might notice that I went clockwise the first time round the center, then accidentally reversed it, but I don't think mom or baby will mind.
I do occasionally get left and right (and clockwise/counterclockwise) mixed up. Oh well. I'm trying to combine a few different textures of yarn for fun, but no handspun in this one -- I want to make sure it's all machine-washable. So it's the good old Red Heart and some other bits of things I had lying about. I like the colors, though.
A Glimmer of Spring
Meanwhile, here in our log cabin--okay, so it's not a log cabin, but with winter swirling about our ears for the past five months it's certainly felt as though we might as well have been in a log cabin on the Alaskan tundra--the snow has nearly all melted. It's still tucking into the 20s at night (-5 C), but the days have been above freezing at last.
In the past week or so I've seen three sandhill cranes, two bluejays, one robin, and one actual bluebird. Not to mention that the chickens have been enjoying their outdoor activities immensely.
The thaw is doing wonders for my mood, despite my sneaking suspicions that we probably have a bit more winter in store for us. At least there's light at the end of the tunnel, and hopefully it's not just an oncoming train.
Happy St. Pat's Day
Enjoy your corned beef. I know I've been awfully YouTube-happy of late, but I just can't quite resist a St. Paddy's Day proffering: I'm Shipping Up To Boston from the Dropkick Murphys. Sometimes there's nothing quite as raukking as bagpipes.
"One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had nothing to do with it--it was the black kitten's fault entirely." (L. Carroll, Through the Looking Glass)
I'm Yankee-Born and Southern-Raised, which makes me kind of Southern Gothic (in the old literary sense of the word). After 15 years in the Big Apple, I spent 4 years on a farm in Michigan raising chickens and llamas and learning to spin, knit, and needle-felt. Now I'm back home in NYC with my much-beloved spouse and one crazy tortiseshell cat. You can also find me on Ravelry.com as okitten.
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