When I was in the fifth grade I wrote an essay entitled The Harsh Winter.  It chronicled two weeks I spent with a lame horse named TC.  I had gone out to the pasture one frigidly cold morning to find both geldings standing behind the barn.  Normally they would greet me at the fence ready to eat but on this morning they appeared frozen in place.  When I went to gather them TC would not move and the other gelding Ute would not leave him.  I coaxed TC toward the barn while Ute nudged at his pasture mate. We did this for as long as it took him to hobble to his stall.  I ran to the house in tears to tell my mother that something was wrong. She called the vet and with his examination came relief.  There was nothing seriously wrong but it still required attention and medication.  I was charged with tending to his abscessed hoof, administering penicillin, and keeping his box stall clean all while battling frigid temperatures and snowfall. This experience left an indelible impression on me.  It was truly a learning experience in more ways than one. 

During those two weeks I learned how to soak his hoof in warm Epsom salt baths and administer injections of penicillin into his neck.  But the part that impacted me the most was the stall mucking.  TC was locked in the entire time and his stall had to be mucked with him in it.  Every morning the manure would be piled high and the urine soaked bedding would freeze.  My task was to clean the stall without allowing him out into the icy pasture.  I managed this by pushing the wheel barrow up to the Dutch door and with the top half open I would lift the muck rake up and over the bottom half.  I felt a rush while working out in the cold as if I was a pioneer battling the elements for survival.   I would layer on the clothing, my eyes the only visible part of me, and head out to the barn prepared to stay as long as it took me to accomplish what had to be done.  And then when it was all over, sometimes hours later, I would go back into the house and strip down to my base layer and warm myself beside the wood burning stove feeling nothing but pure physical exhaustion and contentment over a job well done.  Plus, my mom would make me hot cocoa because she was simply just the best.

The recent brutally cold temps and mixed precipitation reminded me of that time when I was a novice horse owner.  Now it takes a lot more to get me unnerved.  The adult me doesn’t even stress about an abscess.   And a harsh winter is just part of living in rural NY. However, I am fortunate that I don’t have any injured or ill animals to tend to this week.  My only concerns are keeping the stalls tidy, feeding plenty of hay and providing plenty of fresh water.  Possibly tossing a blanket over Sonny, the mare, if the temps dip too low.  But all in all the horses and goats do a pretty good job of caring for themselves.  Plus they have gleaming clean coats to show for all the rolling in the snow. And just like my ten year old self I still bundle up to the eyeballs and gladly stay out for hours.  To me the snowfall and cold are beautiful especially when there is warmth waiting for me.

Last week I was chatting with my best friend about the weather.  Snow and freezing rain were falling and the wind chills were dipping to 20 below.  I commented on how I feel grateful to not have to travel in it and how I feel bad for people who have to risk their safety to commute to jobs.  She applauded my empathy for those people since I was currently suiting up to head out into that weather to do physical labor.  I told her that I love the contrast.  One second it’s me against the elements and the next it’s me napping by the fire.  She totally got my perspective.  While others might cringe at hauling water buckets through the snow, they’ll never know the satisfaction of warming by the fire afterwards.

I see winter for what it is – a season with shorter days, lower temperatures, and inclement weather.  But I am also fortunate that I do not have to travel in it.  So to me winter is simply months of snow and ice.  It’s below zero wind chills.  It’s frozen pipes and humping buckets from the house to the barn.  But it’s also a wood burning stove and more time to relax.  It’s a pot of homemade soup and cookies baking in the oven.  It’s snuggling on the couch and sneaking in a nap.  The winter allows me to slow down long enough to watch the birds at the feeders and to enjoy hearing only their peeps and chirps.  I love sledding with my daughter down the hills of the pastures while watching the fiery sunset over the white mountains.  I love days like today with fresh powdery snow on the ground and vividly blue skies up above.  I’ve already completed all my chores until the evening and now I sit by the wood burning stove, fire blazing, relaxed and typing.

Winter is the season of fire and ice. It is the contrast between a harsh environment outside and a comforting one inside.  On one side of the door the elements control me and dictate what is possible by.  Will there be school today? Can I stay out long enough to finish mucking the barn?  Can the animals be turned out? Is the ice layer going to cause a fall?  On the other side I control the element of fire and decide how hot I want it to burn.  I use the remains of the fallen bug-ridden ash trees to keep me comfortable.  I gaze out the window at yellow bellied sapsuckers and downy woodpeckers as they feast on my homemade suet cakes because winter is also a time to give back to nature.  Inside I am safe and warm completely free to determine just how much I’m going to be affected by the stirring winds and gusting snow that is changing what was just moments ago a tranquil day.

As I’m coming to a close on my fire and ice wonderings, I can’t help but think how this is all a metaphor for my life  and how the external can only make me appreciate the internal.   I am my own entity.  I am defined only by my thoughts and actions.  What happens outside of me is beyond my control.  Life can be harsh.  It can leave me chilled to the bone, unable to feel anything more than the hurt.  It can leave me frazzled and confused, blinded by squalls that swirl around me.  It can leave me feeling agitated and anxious because unlike weather I can’t predict the actions of others.   I can try to accept, manipulate, or ignore what is happening but I cannot control it.  What I can control is how I think, how I feel, and how I choose to let the outside forces affect me.  I will not allow the harshness to chill, confuse, or agitate me for long because I have something inside of me that won’t allow any of that to change who I am. I have my fire, my passion for what I believe in, and no force outside of me can extinguish it.