Instant Winter

A great motivating force for action has always been a change in the weather. When we lived at the farm, my daughter Isabelle and I whipped ourselves into planting frenzies in springtime, just ahead of lowering rain clouds.

So, when a big cold front was forecast, I found myself in a dead heat to finish some fall projects before it arrived.

Always starting with the easiest job, I emptied the rain barrel onto the garden, put the cover on the hole in the downspout, rinsed the barrel and carried it down to the playhouse for the winter.

That day, it was 72 degrees, really too hot to run the chain saw. After crocheting the broken gaps in the cucumber trellis netting, I took it down for the season. Much to his dismay, I gave Beau a bath outside. The bees were seen sunning themselves out on their little deck, in their tiny lawn chairs.

Since I'd had two unproductive seasons trying to grow veggies without supplemental water, I already had decided to abandon the Remote Garden. Getting the big Troy-Built down to shelter turned out to be no mean feat. First, I mowed a path up the hill through the tall grass. Then I carried up the compressor and aired up the tires. Otherwise, I have had the challenge of getting a low tire back on the rim. That's what happens when the rubber tires are over thirty years old. When they feel low, everyone has to suffer. Everyone being me.

The last part of the journey was a little tricky, navigating the steep hill down to the outbuilding. There's no stopping Big Red if he decides to lay over on his side like a stubborn bull. Even though the old tiller acts tough, he has always been kept out of the rain until these last two forlorn years, when he was almost abandoned up at the Remote. I believe I heard a sigh of relief from Red when he was safely tucked into the outbuilding with a good roof.

Late in the the afternoon before the cold came, I decided to zip up to the closest field and mow a path around it. however, I managed to get Rosie the ride-on mower high-centered over a hidden telephone pole lying in the grass. I used the chain saw to cut off the pole but the part under the mower deck was embedded in the ground, quietly rotting. Sweat was dripping down my glasses as I struggled to free Rosie from between two hills. I did not succeed.

The next day,  it was 27 degrees. The cold wind brought tears to my eyes. It isn't the cold as much as the sudden stoppage of warm weather that is a pain in the neck, like whiplash.

Not a soul was around, but nevertheless I felt embarrassed because I couldn't remember how to unwind the cable from the winch I bought the last time Rosie got stuck. At the local hardware store, I bought a length of stout chain.

Finally recalling where I put the winch instructions, I pounded in a fence tee post. After that, I was able to winch Rosie uphill, off the pole. I must say, it gives a woman a sense of being powerful to use a winch. There's nothing like a wench at the winch.