It's Freaking COLD Out Here!

I knew when I moved to the mountains that it would be cold. I tried, really tried, to prepare myself for it. Before I knew that I'd become a mountain woman, I spent a good twenty-or-so years of my life getting my blood used to the warm ocean breezes of the east coast. New Jersey rarely would provide more than an aggravating chill and inconvenient slush during the heart of the winter. Following New Jersey, my Miami, Florida residency got me used to Christmas shopping in 80 degree weather; I sang "Jingle Bells" to the hum of my car's blasting air conditioner. But this season, oh this season, is like nothing I've ever felt before.

The season seemed to start out subtle enough. As the weather began to turn, I did not fool myself into thinking I'd be strong enough to take even the slightest whisper of frozen air. I kept ahead of the dropping thermometer by layering clothes. I visited Walgreens and bought myself the ugliest set of long, thermal underwear I could find - in several different colors. Over my underwear went a pair of sweat pants, two pair of jeans, a bib and snow pants. On top, my extravagantly-priced Victoria's Secret knit sweaters, the warmest I owned, were layered in threes over my thermal undershirt, a dance skin, and a thoroughly padded bra. I wore four pairs of socks under rubber work boots, and two pairs of work gloves. My heavy brown Stetson served as a shield to block the wind from my face, while my thick hair hung down to protect my ears. I quickly learned that, especially in the winter, barn clothes can expect to see the laundry no more than once per month.

The layering happened in stages, of course, increasing in fabric as the weather decreased in temperature. But when the true cold set in, when winter really showed us her teeth, I could have worn a suit of baked potatoes and still not have found warmth. The temperature got so cold that I honestly wondered if I would begin to lose appendages. My toes hurt so badly that I thought one bad stub would send them shattering into pieces. My fingers could not get warm - in fits of freezing, I'd often remove my gloves, cover my fingers in the dust of horse treats, and stick my whole hand into the hot mouth of our mare. I was more prepared to feed her a finger than to lose one to the frigid air. My nose, cheek bones, and the tips of my ears felt as though someone were holding blue flame to them, and I couldn't smile for fear my gums would freeze and drop all my teeth. I checked the weather during one such night, and saw that though the temperature was in the high single digits, the wind chill made it "feel like 0." Feel like zero? Like nothing? Like we're so cold that numbness overtakes us and we can't feel a thing? Hardly! This felt more like one of the deeper circles of Hell, and I was desperate to find a Beatrice who would lead me out.

The city girl in me entertained thoughts of abandoning my chores, of pushing them off until the weather became more accommodating. I work hard, I deserve it! It's too cold, I'm entitled! These are the days when you let your dog pee ten feet from your back steps, so that you can hold his leash in the warmth of your doorway. But when you live on a farm, there are so many little lives depending on you, that abandoning chores is not a possibility. Horses need water. Rabbits need feed. Goats need to be milked. There is something divine about the practice of being human on a farm; little lives depend on us for regulation, little tummies depend on us for sustenance, little creatures live and die by our hand. The responsibility of orchestrating a working hobby farm is empowering, but it also requires dedication and sacrifice. When the choice is taken away from us, when "pushing it off" or "waiting it out" is not an option, it is amazing to learn what we are capable of.

I remember reading a story in Daniel Quinn's Tales of Adam, in which Adam, the first man, is teaching his son Able to hunt rabbit. Able shivers and whimpers and complains about the cold. Adam chastises Able, telling him to take off his heavy clothes, because it is the clothes that are making him cold. Sure enough, as Able removes his clothes, he learns that his human body was equipped to take the weather's punishment. Once he quit seeing the cold as his enemy, and saw it instead as an entity to be worked with and through, his shivering ceased. I took that lesson to heart, working through the bitter mountain air not with the thought that it was too cold, but with the acceptance that cold is good. We need the cold to make our farm work. We want the cold to strengthen our resolve.

We came to Emotive Acres in early November, only breaths before the frigid winter would move in. What a time to start a farm! How we had to encourage ourselves to remember that warmer days are ahead! Now that the weather is beginning to break, the snow is turning to water and the water survives the night without freezing, it is as if our steadfast determination is being rewarded. When the Spring comes home again, it will be greeted on Emotive Acres with chickens, and bees, and fish and fruit. But for now, we've learned to love the cold. During chores the other night, I found myself overheating under my layers. I peeled off jackets and sweaters, overalls and gloves. I pushed up my sleeves and wiped sweat from my brow. I checked the weather that night, and saw that the temperature had been recorded at 32 degrees - the temperature I used to call "freezing." We've survived the shortest days and the coldest nights this year would throw at us, and we came out more joyful and productive than when we went in. I will never see cold as the enemy again.