Frosted Mornings

These days, the ranch looks like a winter wonderland. We had received a considerable amount of snow for Christmas. The wind accompanied the storms, creating impassable drifts across our remote roads. Sculpted drifts accentuated the ranch buildings and lonely sagebrush patches. Mother Nature has tried her best to slowly melt, but the ice and snow have prevailed. Most days, the sun struggles to warm up the cold earth. The sparse patches of bare ground become a muddy surface, before freezing solid again. The ice rink puddles are resurfaced with a smooth thin layer, from the day’s watery renewal. There is progress, but it is hard to measure.

A blanket of fog has greeted us each morning, this past week. It appears as a thick, stark white existence, slowly gaining altitude with the rising sun. By 12pm, the brilliant blue winter skies erase any memory of the dense curtain. The only remnants remaining, the coating of hore frost, highlighting everything in sight. It’s as if something magical has traced every outline. Turning the mundane ordinary into amazing sculptures. Even as a child, I remember being in awe of the masterpieces created. The simple woven wire fences are now a quilted wall. Every branch of tumbleweed tripled in size with ice crystals.

Ranch life seems to slow during this quiet time. The livestock await the coming sun. Gathering in groups to help share the communal body heat. Steam rising from their nostrils and frosted backs. The cattle hunker in the sagebrush, hoping for some insulation from the cold. The sheep lay curled up on the feeding ground, hesitant to leave their warm nests. The only stirring is the lonely coyote in the distance, vocalizing his dislike on this frosty morning. We too, move at a slower pace. The feed tractor groans and aches, if started too early. The watering holes refreeze, if the ice is broken too soon.

These are the days to enjoy an extra cup of steaming, hot coffee. To spend dark, early mornings planning for the coming, warmer weather. The little cowboys catch of up on watching their favorite cartoons, a task seldom achieved during busier months. We try to enjoy this forced form of hibernation, in anticipation of the promised spring. The wild Canadian geese are beginning to grace the frozen, meadow fields. Tree branches are slowly growing minute leaf buds, hinting at what is to come. It’s as if spring is beginning to whisper in Mother Nature’s ear. In the meantime, we wait. Fully bundled from head to toe, traveling thru the crusted snow. Caring for our livestock, no matter the weather. Thankful for full bellies and a warm, wood fire.