The Height of a Prairie Winter

In the height of winter my walks often take place on the one road into and out of our property because of the ease and the freedom of travel the road provides. I’m comfortable with winter but heading into February is right about when I begin to feel an eagerness for walks across the prairie, for softer earth and the tickle of grass, for the rough coolness of my favorite sitting stone, even a bug or two would be welcome.

I recently mentioned the unusually warm weather and I fear Mother N might have been listening. The current weather is of the kind expected for January, leading into February. this morning on the way out to feed the flock the air was full of haze, as though every creature simultaneously took a deep breath and slowly exhaled their warm air into the pane of winters cold. Suspended is a word that comes to mind. There was light from the sun but no shine. Blurry sun dogs were evident.

I wish I could say I have put the cold weather time to good use but I’m so unsettled at the moment and have no definitive excuse to give for the fragmentation. Each time I sit down, I’m up again, onto whatever task can be done sooner than the one I’m working on. It’s the fragmented feeling of a lot going on. The prairie is where I sit when I’m frazzled, but at the moment the landscape is a little bitter and even the walks are a little rushed, although no less invigorating given the brisk cold.

I too need to take that big inhale, let myself be suspended there a moment, and then find my pace again because the winter will not wait for me, it will shift again soon.

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Artwork and Agriculture

To stand back and see deeply what is present in the gift of creating.
To encompass the whole and see coexistence that is often missed when we only look close.
To shape what we see into a creation by way of being shaped by what we see.
To know the details of our vision but not stew on them so much we mess with the creation.

To stand back and see deeply what is present in the land’s offering.
To encompass the whole and know that coexistence is who we are; a piece that is missed when we only look at the numbers.
To shape our farms by way of being shaped by the landscape before our eyes.
To know the details of our back forty and our animals but not stew on them so much that we mess what is already perfectly created.

Artwork and agriculture are not so different, particularly when we are intentional about what we are creating and when what we are creating bears relevance to our Selves.

I don’t know what prompted me to stand the little felted ewe in front of this painting but upon doing so it presented a visual statement of how much art and agriculture are alike and what art and agriculture can mean when we are intentional about what we are creating. When we care enough to put our heart into it.

And when what we are creating bears relevance to our Self a healthy amount of good goes out into the world with it. What we have created, be it art or agriculture, resonates with others and a peculiar type of magic happens that extends beyond ourselves. I think agriculture could use a little bit of that good and a little bit of that magic.

Hills by artist Dawn Banning

The painting is by Canadian artist Dawn Banning. I am positively thrilled it hangs in our home. You can find more of Dawn’s artwork and her insights on the impact of artwork in our lives on her blog at Dawn’s Originals.

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Prairie Winter Turns

It is late in the evening and as I write I am listening to the roaring noise of wind. Brief bursts of rain spurred by the high winds make a slashing sound on the metal roof. It is January on the northern prairie; this kind of weather is unreal. The weather has been unusually warm for January. A good occurrence when you’re feeding hay to livestock but a worrisome occurrence in all other matters.

It is early the next morning, sleep was brief, there is still the roaring of wind. The internet didn’t stay alive long enough for me to post last night. The rain became snow and morphed into a blizzard. There is a thick blanket of snow/rain on the ground. I’m anxious to head outdoors and see the flock but it’s early hours and it will be full dark for awhile yet. The Kelpies showed no concern about heading outdoors this AM so I’m hopeful that bodes well for the actual conditions. Maybe it’s just the roaring of the wind that has me rattled.

The routine here right now is – well – very routine, which I’m sure I comment on every year. The morning chores consists of getting hay feed to the sheep, cows, horses and then feeding guardian dogs. In the evening we return to the pasture and feed guardian dogs a second time and just have a look around before nightfall.

It’s easy to become impatient with this small, every day occurrence and livelihood. Then brutal weather comes along and makes you appreciate how precarious it all is and in that precariousness is a measure of appreciation.

And you begin again, your routine made anew by way of nature.

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