Braving the Cold for a Winter Walk

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My morning walk on MLK day was much quieter than usual. U.S. Hwy. 259 is normally a busy road filled with folks heading to work in Longview, from Diana and Ore City and points beyond. That highway is three-fourths of a mile east of our farm. The constant hum of traffic on 259 is the aural backdrop to my three-mile walk up and down Mustang Drive most days.

But not today. A wintry mix began falling late yesterday afternoon and continued through the night. By the time I headed out the door, it was 21 degrees and flurries continued to fall. I was bundled up like the Michelin Man, wearing a beanie, gloves, hood tied tightly on my head, two pairs of pants, wool socks. The cold air felt bracing on what little of my face was exposed. My New Hampshire roots always kick in when the weather turns frosty. Even after living in Texas for more than 55 years, I still prefer cold weather.

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I headed to one of the Big Box Stores when I got off work at noon the previous Friday to buy some tarps in order to cover the azaleas. Last spring, we invested a fair amount of money planting new shrubs both in the front and along the rear of the house. I struggled mightily during last summer’s drought to keep them alive. Now I was hoping to help them survive the bitter cold coming our way.

As I headed toward the store’s entrance, at least a half dozen folks were leaving, shopping carts filled with tarps. Luckily, there were still some left on the shelves. I grabbed four thick tarps along with the remaining tent stakes and spent the rest of the afternoon covering the azaleas with the tarps, blankets and beach towels. All of them are now coated with about a half-inch of frozen snow. I have no idea how the azaleas have fared, but I did all could do.

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Our backyard has become a bird sanctuary during this winter freeze. Besides the two bird feeders hanging on the fence, my Beautiful Mystery Companion placed two trays of birdseed on the back patio. Dozens of birds, most some variety of chickadees but also a nice collection of cardinals and blackbirds, feed from dawn until dusk. I ran into town on Sunday, before the weather really turned south, and bought a 40-pound bag of birdseed. I am not sure it is going to last the week.

Tater and Olive are transfixed by the birds and manage to rouse themselves from slumber to sit at the back door, which has French windows, staring at the birds feasting just feet away, doubtless considering bird murder. Olive especially is a stone-cold bird killer only rarely allowed outside. Tater is more of a blubber-nugget, confident we will keep him well supplied with groceries without him having to hunt for it. But both cats are confined inside, especially when we’re doing our small part to keep the birds alive during this bitter weather.

I watched from my desk as a red-tailed hawk flew by and roosted in a tree close to the bird feeders. Instantly, the little birds were gone, not wanting to serve as a mid-day repast for the raptor. After a few minutes the hawk flew off, and the little birds returned, this time mainly red-winged blackbirds.

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Before the storm hit, I drove up to Gilmer and bought two bales of three-string hay for Pancho the Donkey. I put one bale in the pole shed and cut it open while he watched curiously. Late Sunday afternoon, I realized Pancho was not in sight, which is pretty rare. He is usually grazing somewhere around the pond. I grabbed a carrot and headed down to check on him before it got dark.

I slipped inside the gate, calling his name. Pancho peeked his head from around the corner of the pole shed. He had decided the weather was getting ugly enough for him to seek shelter. I fed him the carrot and made sure he still had plenty of hay. We are mighty fond of that old boy, who is now 23 or 24 years old. I lose track. Same goes with my own age, these days.

As long as I can walk three miles in sub-freezing weather and not really feel the worse for wear, I think I am doing OK.

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