This morning has been full of slipping and sliding and me questioning the sanity of owning this kind of a farm in Alaska. First off, I forgot my snow pants at home, which is fine because I have Carhartt's here...but, the snow pants definitely would have been worth it with how many times I ended up on my butt, my knees, my side....whatever hit the ground first.
Starting off, the wagon to carry the water is covered in a nice layer of ice, so I decided to carry two buckets at a time instead. On my first attempt, I slipped, spilled the entire uphill bucket, creating a super slick ice luge which I slid down about ten feet, completely drenching the back side of my lower half in water. Plus, I was wearing Evan's size 12 (men's) boots as they do have better traction than mine. So, they filled with water, too. Awesome. I did the water first, for some reason, so I had to do the rest of the chores wet and with squishy boots. All the while, Eddie (the donkey) is heehawing his brains out like he hasn't eaten in weeks.
I slip many times while carrying the hay, but only one full-out-flat-on-my-back-fall (with an accompanying "I F#$*ING HATE THIS!" yell to the heavens, while spread eagle on the ground).
I finish doing the chores with little incident, and I try to imagine I am on a farm in Ireland that has been in my family for generations--even the milking cow has come from a long line of dutiful milk producers bred generation after generation on this land. This is a freak ice storm in an otherwise idyllic setting. This kind of works.
But then I decide that I might as well muck since I'm already wet and dirty. I slip again, shovel in one hand, two mucking buckets in the other, again ending up arms wide open, flat on my back, my elbow hurts a bit. I wonder if I have landed in shit. Again, an accompanying "F&#*ING HELL WHY DO PEOPLE FARM HERE!?!?" and a string of muttered profanities.
I muck, Moki finds her favorite pieces of shit to eat. Sorrel digs at the snow, presumably uncovering a prized, perfectly frozen, piece of shit.
I return to the house, slip sliding the whole way, Moki and Sorrel struggle up little hills. We make it inside. I take off my wet pants and socks, my ass is bright red and numb. I get the sweetened condensed milk/dulce de leche (made from the fresh milk that makes all of this work worth it) and a container of almonds. I eat spoonfuls of sweet, caramel-y goodness while my ass thaws out. The dogs are sleeping, and there happen to be Irish ballads playing on NPR (to go with my fantasy farm).
Oh, and that first time I slipped with the two buckets of water--I saved one of 'em! so the pigs got one bucket of water, and I didn't attempt to carry any more. They'll be fine.
