That title phrase is borrowed from a recent Gene Logsdon blog post, in which he talks about bringing in firewood for the winter ahead, and how the onset of winter makes some of us uneasy, whether we know why or not.
I know why the coming months of dormant grass, saturated soils, and frigid temperatures make me uneasy. Because I’m not ready for it, that’s why.
It feels like we went hurtling through the heat of August just last week. But of course, August was two – nearly three – months ago. Back then, I was mapping out all the things to get done by October, and though the list was ambitious, it seemed doable. Now October is heaving its last breath, and the bottom half of my list just rolls to the right. November. We’ll get it all done in November, then.
Meanwhile, the leaves are changing color and falling, and the cows are on their last rotation through paddocks just recovered enough to provide good grazing – most are 8″ at the tallest and some areas much sparser. Quite the difference from the lushness of May and June. Regrowth slowed in September and after this time through, will be just enough to regenerate root reserves before growth stops.
It is sobering to see the end of the grazing season fast approaching, knowing that soon I’ll have to serve up hay to hungry animals in all sorts of weather. Glad to have the hay stockpile; not thrilled with the work ahead to feed it out.
The things that did get done should make me feel very contented, and in any other season than this, they would. For example, in just two weeks I tracked down 80 rolls of grass hay for the cowherd, hauled them up to the top of the hill, set them on pallets along the hay storage lane, and covered them with plastic. That was huge. A lot of work, and a load off my shoulders to finally get it done. Having enough hay to feed a mixed herd of cows, steers, heifers and calves through the winter is no laughing matter, even here in balmy Kentucky.
The garden harvest has gone very well, too; my shelves are literally groaning with quart jars of tomatoes, green beans, and three kinds of pickles. There are pounds of chard and edamame in the freezer, bags of dehydrated herbs and cherry tomatoes in the cupboard, piles of winter squash in the spare room, and an overflow fridge out in the shop stuffed with potatoes, beets and carrots. The abundance makes all the work worth it, and I’m glad to have homegrown food for the winter and beyond.
Still, I am uneasy. My firewood pile is very small. I’ve just enough split and stacked on the back porch for the next few weeks, then I’ll have to devote a couple of days to harvesting some standing dead trees, cutting them to length and splitting a mix of large, medium and small for the woodstove. I wish I’d have had time to get ahead of this resource but I didn’t. I won’t run out and I won’t freeze, but it’s work that should have been done by now.
Then there’s the horse hay storage structure, still sitting in the palletized box it shipped in, waiting for site prep, footer holes dug and poured, and assembly of the 24′ x 20′ steel tubing frame that’ll be covered by the heavy-duty custom-sewn covering, warrantied to last 15 years. Once erected, it’ll hold 600 bales of hay for the horses. Sitting in the box, it’s a long way from being able to hold 600 bales of hay. Might as well be a box of rocket ship parts out there, as useful as it is to me right now.
Barn doors need built and hung to finish the stall so I can wean the little colt; cows need run through the corral and chute again for annual shots; calves must be captured and hauled to the vet for castration and vaccinations, the yearling colt needs a vet visit for his gelding ceremony; the list goes on, and the weeks fly by, and it is getting cold already.
I shake off the uneasiness but it’s the season for that sort of thing, and it returns. Maybe I’ll get used to it in a couple of years.
Thistledog's Farm 