February 12, 2021
I keep checking the weather forecast, wondering what happened to our January thaw.
The general rule of thumb is that maple sugaring season starts on Valentines Day, and in fact, the last few years the sap started flowing in the middle of January.
In order for the maple trees to perform their magic, they need freezing temperatures at night (which we certainly have) and daytime temperatures in the upper 40s - and right now that feels like a very long way off...
The bluebirds, unlike the maple trees, seem undaunted by the cold, and have been studiously checking out the houses we made for them. As long as we remember to clean out the houses in January, we get to host a couple of nesting pairs in March. They just need to decide which, if any, of our predator proof boxes suits their fancy. I'm a sucker for tradition- so if I were them I'd probably take my chances and nest in a south facing wood pecker hole in one of the standing snags on the ridge. To each their own!
While my thoughts this week were preoccupied with sugaring season and my heart was hanging out with the bluebirds, I, in fact, spent most of my time shoveling.
Our animals tend to be fairly self reliant and not afraid of a bit of snow – but it's pretty deep, and where the wind has caused the snow to drift- it's even deeper...
So we shoveled paths to get to their feed, and then shoveled paths so we could get the feed to them. We shoveled paths for us to get to the water and shoveled paths for them to get to their water troughs. We shoveled paths to get to their gates, and shoveled out the gates so we could keep them open, and yet, despite all this seemingly endless and dutiful shoveling, it became obvious that the pigs had other plans.
Apparently the water coming out of the dedicated waterline we installed for them is not quite as good as the water from the natural spring on the opposite end of their pasture. The insulating properties of the earth keeps the groundwater flowing out of the spring around 50 degrees and much to the pig's collective joy, it has yet to freeze over even on the coldest nights.
To be honest, I haven't tasted the water which magically flows out of the muddy spring, emerging like a mysterious black hole surrounded by pristine snow. I seriously doubt, however, that it tastes any better than the water I drink, which is the same water that I offer them. It's fine, I get it, - they prefer the spring water and I know better than to argue.
The pigs are in fact very good at plowing their own way to where ever it is they want to go, which is certainly a good thing for them, because I'm not shoveling the extra 400 feet of snow just so they can get to their preferred watering hole. It's just not happening...