The Easter Blues

A typical Easter up on the Palmer Divide includes snow. It's difficult to believe that a week ago the grass was green, the trees were starting to bud and I was closing up the chicken coop at night without even bothering to don a jacket.  That was the day before the blizzard dumped 18 inches of snow on us. The subsequent four days of overcast and snow have finally given way to the sun, which is why I bundled up and headed out to the paddocks to dig a path for the chickens.

I looked great, by the way, wearing my fancy galoshes, my burgundy barn coat and my new brown felt slouch hat. Admittedly, I can still be seen in the yard wearing some highly unfashionable get-ups that result from a single mindedness to get to work that makes me all too absent minded about my appearance.  On those days I appear as a diminutive, firebrand hauling my cumbersome wheelbarrow to and fro with great determination, while dressed as a wild eyed bohemian. Most likely my attire is what I pulled out of the laundry that morning so I wouldn't get my good clothes dirty.  Often, I realize half way through the morning that I really should do Salt the favor of reminding him that I am still the fashionable sophisticate he married.

Fashion aside, I need not have bundled up this morning, despite the fact it was 29 degrees out as I chipped away at the densely frozen snow. The plastic snow shovel wouldn't cut the icy pack, so I cut small blocks with a garden spade and pulled up blocks that would have been excellent material for an igloo.  This was a hot and sweaty job laboring in the sun.  I took frequent breaks to catch my breath, enjoying the sparkling glint of the eastern sun reflecting off of the crystalline lake that is a pasture in warmer weather. The ponderosas were still tufted with snow, and the sky was bright blue and cloudless.  The crisp air smelled faintly of mesquite, which is how I knew that Salt had put a brisket on the smoker. 

After freeing the chickens and airing out their coop, I headed inside to reflect a little on the day and, obviously, to blog.  Salt, who could make a profession of reflection if he chose to publish his writing, had already concluded the sitting silently portion of his contemplation time. He had moved on to practicing the harmonica. And so, my appreciation of life continues as he plays the blues with the dogs sleeping nearby and watches the temperature of his brisket.  It feels a little like Easter in a roadhouse, which has its charm.

So here is wishing you all a happy Easter. We are having a day most worthy of celebrating with gratitude: warm sun on our faces, cool breezes in the smoke scented mountain air, dogs at our feet, dinner and family on the way and music all around. Happy Easter!