Another Day in the Country
Hunkering down
© Another Day in the Country
In anticipation of bad weather — which really means below-zero weather in winter — I ordered some electronic gizmos to keep water from freezing for the ducks and chickens.
Being a “plan ahead, be prepared” kind of person, I hooked them up and discovered they worked like a charm during December’s thermometer dips.
Then came January. We did OK over at the hen house. But when the temperature plunged, the heater I had for the ducks’ water quit. I went out to check on the ducks and found them chipping away at a solid block of ice.
When it started snowing, I saw Daffy with her head up, beak pointed skyward. It looked as if she was trying to catch flakes of snow in her mouth. It was a drastic move for a bottom-heavy duck who has tipped over backward a couple of times just grooming herself.
The first day of the storm, I took Then I took out a bowl of water. Once he ducks had drinks, I brought the bowl back inside.
Luckily, I’d ordered back-up heater, which I installed in the ducks tub of ice, and it worked. That’s one winter dilemma solved.
“Why don’t you stay in the house when it’s this cold?” I asked the ducks. “It’s got to be warmer than sitting on the snow.”
I reasoned, but the ducks pay me no mind. They just hunker in a corner of the pen and wait it out. Following their example, I’m doing something similar — hunkering down.
Before the storm hit, we made sure we had enough groceries. My sister stopped at a gas station even though she really didn’t need gas.
“I just like to have the tank full,” she said, “when there’s a storm coming — even though the car may not even get out of the garage for several days, just in case.”
It’s the “just in case” mode of living that I’ve always admired about country folk. It’s having extra food in the barn for the animals, a stockpile in the pantry for the family, and a way to keep the water supply assured — even if that means dripping faucets.
My dad, the ultimate example of being prepared, always kept cash in the bottom right hand drawer of his desk — just in case.
In the trunk of his car, he carried soap and water along with essential tools for fixing tires — just in case.
He insisted on having a wood-burning stove in his house somewhere, and he always had a winter’s supply of wood stored in the shed.
It bothers me that the house I live in does not have a fireplace or a wood-burning stove. If worse came to worst, there’s one at the house across the street that we call the Ramona House, and I could go over there to keep warm.
Meanwhile, I’m giving thanks for Evergy, Atmos, and Rural Water allowing me to hunker down in a little two-bit town like Ramona and be warm, safe, even comfortable, when winter winds come howling.
Thankfully, this has not been a howling kind of storm — yet. The snow did not blow into town like a grand catastrophe but drifted down like a scene on a Christmas greeting.
Being a woman of a certain age, I pretty much stayed put and entertained myself watching television, cooking, and reading.
One day, before the storm hit, talking with friends, I bemoaned the fact that I couldn’t find gingerbread cake mixes in my food store. I know I can always make gingerbread from scratch, but those mixes were so handy.
“I know where you can still get them,” Jane said.
Before I had a chance to get there, Jane brought me two boxes of gingerbread cake mix. So when it started to get cold, I decided that now was the time to make gingerbread.
What’s better on a winter evening than warm gingerbread with whipped cream?
One of my favorite TV shows is “Landscape Artist of the Year,” featuring artists capturing scenes in England, Ireland, and Wales.
When the snow began, I cut a slice of gingerbread, got a cup of my Korean coffee, and turned on the television set.
The artist contestants were visiting an ancient castle. I couldn’t just sit here and watch! I wanted to be drawing, too.
So, I grabbed a suitcase full of pens and paper that I take to school for doing art with the kids. I got out the pens, cut some paper into note-sized pieces, and began making cards.
This activity indulged three passions of mine: art, writing, and correspondence. I made a slew of notecards.
While the snow fell and the hours went by, I was transfixed by places I’d never seen before while never moving far from the couch. Gingerbread in one hand and a pen in the other, I was a happy camper, hunkered down, on just another day in the country.