A Bittersweet Christmas

It's been three weeks now since Granny passed away, and we all miss her very much. Although I didn't get here in time to see her, I'm glad that I was able to spend this time with Mom, Dad, Olivia, Juan, Ron and Tasha, and that our remembrance allowed us to express our emotions and pay tribute to the wonderful mother and grandmother that she was.

We have all sought solace in each other's company, making meals together, going for walks, cross-country skiing, listening to music, playing Scrabble...doing the things we would normally do if she were here, wishing she could be a part of them, but slowly accepting that the river of life flows onward.

Today Mom, Dad and I went for our second ski tour ('skitur' in Norwegian) and we stopped frequently along the way to examine the myriad tracks in the snow. In addition to the ever-present deer and occasional rabbit, we saw several trails of dog-like footprints, proof that the foxes and coyotes (and maybe a catamount?) roam the back fields at night looking for mice, voles and wood-charleses. We saw different bird tracks as well as some strange tracks that we couldn't identify - two parallel lines that curved their way mysteriously along the irrigation ditch. If only we could unravel all the stories in the snow!

Every time we complete our route and make the turn by the shagbark hickory in the corner of the prairie along the fenceline, we flush 50 or so doves who thunder out of the wild rose towards the brook. Yesterday and today we also flushed EVF's resident Great Blue Heron and watched him glide silently away into prehistory. Winter is a wonderful time for birdwatching; I've observed jays, crows, titmice, chickadees, wrens and woodpeckers, and there are always red-tailed hawks screaming overhead. The sunsets have been extraordinary every evening - pinks, oranges, purples, ice blues and slate grays. Long icicles hang from the barn roof as temperatures have stayed below freezing, and the sheep stay huddled in their pens throughout the day.

Tonight we walked down to the Tack Shop to have dinner, and Dad and Taylor told stories of growing up on the farm; shooting with abandon at animals, birds and whiskey bottles alike, and sledding as far as they could along the then-dirt road on their trusty Flexible Flyers. We walked back through the cold, debating just how far the sleds really used to go, then played two games of Scrabble while listening to some excellent African music (Mom has just discovered Saida Karoli). I wish that days like this could last forever, but because the farm gives us continuity and roots us in time and place, I take heart in knowing that this 67 year-old story will continue to be told, in snow and in summer, generation after generation.

-Alexander