|Front yard in |
|This is why we decided not to keep chickens this winter|
|Vole or mole slipping out from beneath the snow to steal seed|
There is barely a place for Miss Chelsea Kabob to relieve herself. She hops into the snow, sinks, hops out and we trudge on. We wipe her feet and belly when we enter the house.
We've gone through so much wood Doug says he will have to chip the next batch out of the snow. And the wood in the mud room was stacked to the ceiling.
Like weary soldiers we carry on.