Things are different....

  After our so-called winter storm that did not materialize much more than a bit of sleet, I was out early this morning to check things.  Other than a few patches of ice here and there, the yard did not look much different.  No snow blanketed the place making it look like a Winter Wonderland.  Instead, all I had was cold, soggy leaves that were knocked from the treetops.  My hike was going well until I reached the pier.  Nope!  Not going there!  I found our where Winter Storm Benji dumped his ice crystals.  The pier was glistening with the crystals and I knew that all that beauty was just an accident waiting to happen.  It was cold enough outside to make me call a halt to the hike and scurry back inside by the old wood-burning stove.

  Back in the day on the farm, we had our fair share of cold, wintry days.  It was not bad for us in the old farmhouse as there were two huge fireplaces that warmed us.  There was no heat in any of the bedrooms so on nights when the temperature plunged to the teens or even the single digits, we would warm our backsides by the fireplace then run quickly to jump in the bed!  Quilts and blankets were piled several deep and you learned to appreciate sharing a bed with a sibling!  We never knew anything different so were fine.  I guess that is why even today, I cannot tolerate a hot room during the winter.  My little cast iron stoves provide enough heat for me but others find the Little Bayou House a bit cold.

  Sometimes the animals on the farm did not fare so well.  I can remember Pop being upset several times that some of the sows gave birth during hard freezes.  He fretted over the well being of the piglets but other than putting down an extra layer of hay, there was not much we could do to help.  The barn was a huge thing with an open front so heating was out of the question.  Mama pigs are not known to be that snuggly with their offspring so it was entirely up to the little ones to seek the warmth of the sow.  Usually, they were fine other than the fact that some had a bit of frostbite on their wee tails causing them to drop off.   The chicken houses were a bit more draft-free and several times Pop would hang lights to help heat the birds.  This did not work out so well as the chickens pecked at the bulbs until they broke.  On one particularly cold night,  several of the hens' feet froze to the roost.  We would find the hens frantically flapping their wings as they tried to hop off but could not.  A bucket of warm water fixed the problem and a few days later, the hens were as good as new.  Pop would probably say that I mollycoddle the animals here on the Bayou and I guess I do.  Mr. PJ, the dog, is curled up on his soft bed next to the stove while Ms. Nycto, the cat, is snuggled next to me on the sofa.  Stay warm, folks!