On being ants...

Last winter was hard.
If we had any romantic delusions of what an Iowan winter could be, this past winter shook those right out of us.
Recalling it now, I am little but somber, solemn, and terrified. At the risk of sounding "I-used-to-walk-10-miles-in-the-snow-both-ways-uphill-barefoot," here is a small list I compiled of the challenges we faced just this past winter.

We started off the winter with a pre-Thanksgiving ice storm that left us with two inches of ice coating everything. Then came snow, snow, and more snow. Not until March did we have above freezing temperatures. I shudder now just thinking about it.
Being that we had animals, we carried 5-gallon buckets of water out to them each day over snow drifts so hard that you could walk on top of them (you, plus the 10 gallons of water). They were so tall, though, that if you fell through you would have been up to your chest in snow.
If you'll recall, we changed our furnace to a corn-burning stove. This was great for economy, but we had no storage in the house for such grain, and therefore used those same five-gallon buckets and carried nearly 700 of them through snow, into the house, and down the stairs to the basement.
Twice the gate on the corn bin froze shut, meaning that the house grew cold until Phil carefully warmed the door enough with a torch to slide it open.
We learned where our snow drifts on the property...right through the pile of stored wood we had lined up. Phil spent entire afternoons chipping at the mini-mountain with a pick-ax and a shovel.
Also, he had been working as a carpenter, but they had no inside work last winter. The early ice scratched out roofing and siding as a possibility, and you would be hard-pressed to find a homeowner wanting a window installed when its 15 below freezing outside.
Wait. I can't forget about the water main that froze under the ground a month before thaw. We spent a few days carrying buckets to the house, and then, when it was warm enough, we stretched a hose between the well and the house, leaving a small drip running at all times so it wouldn't freeze.
Each month we would cling to "oh, it's already , surely winter is just nearly over!" We crawled through February, shivered through March, took out a pair of shorts in early April and re-stored them later that month. May was chilly, wet, and stormy. And then, with June, came floods. Needless to say, it chilled us so long, and so deeply, that this spring and summer have been nearly exclusively geared toward preparing for the upcoming winter.

Growing up, the thought of preparing for winter meant "Get Excited About Your Christmas List!" or "Pray for snow!!!" And up until this year we have just about stumble-tumbled into winter here, as well. Sure, we bought fuel and such, but there was little else that went into the thoughts of routine and rhythm when it came to the seasons.

Not to be outdone, in March, three months before we would be able to plant our garden, we sat down and made a battle plan. Water, windows, wood, corn, doors, clothing, animals, roof, shop heat, and food were all discussed in detail. This new preparation seems both daunting and actually, a bit exhilarating. I know, I know, don't worry, it's not the overdose of coffee. Hear me out.

One of my favorite things to do before a storm is batten down the hatches. Warily eyeing the looming thunderheads, we pick up the toys, secure the machine shed, shut windows, put the animals inside. You spend that bit of time running around, always eyeing the clouds, wondering if you have another minute to pull that piece of equipment into the shed or if you should just head in because that thunder is starting to rumble a bit louder now. Its the imminence of the storm that brings it all into focus- a clear purpose.

And then it comes. Loud crashes, rain. Lightning. And we sit inside, watching the intensity of the storm with awe -just being so thankful for the protection of a strong and sturdy home. (When we first moved here, we would pop popcorn to watch a storm. They are that neat.) But, of course, the storm is only that delightful to watch because we spent the time preparing for it. If we were worried a door might blow off the machine shed and fly into one of our friend's campers, then it would likely invoke an entirely different emotion. And as a result, that process of preparation has become satisfying to me on a level that's hard to explain.

In the same way, preparing for winter can be the same thing. Sure, caulking windows isn't the most delightful job in the world, but we are going to war here! And, whether I like it or not, when one is battling the elements, attention to detail counts. When the fury of winter descends upon us this year, I want to be warm, cozy, curled up next to the wood-fire with my boys and a book...drinking hot cocoa coffee with pumpkin spice creamer. And that thought alone keeps me quite motivated to push through, squelching my inner grasshopper. Coffee, I tell myself. Remember the coffee. And the creamer. (This rationale most always works for a Seattle-ite at heart.)
So, that is where I have been lately. Battening down the hatches. The first few chilly evenings have come, meaning that I am just that much more aware that the enemy is nigh over the hill...