BREAKING OUT OF MONDAY'S SNOW ON FRIDAY

wild turkey stretches in the sun

The mother of invention, necessity, drove me through the plowed snowbank between the car and the road after the day had warmed up a little. With rear wheel drive, it would have required some snow shovel work. Front wheel drive can get momentum running backwards through the car length of clear ground under the car, pushing the rear wheels through the mound of snow. The rear wheels clear tracks for the front wheels to get a grip on going through the snow. It took a wee bit of slipping and sliding, nowhere near a concern, just ice. Returned easily through the tracks made by departure. The six inches of snow has shrunk down to about four inches, though now it's icy from sun warming the surface during the day, melting just enough to make a thin crust of ice in the night. Front wheel drive, new tires, a car that runs perfectly, dependably, good center of gravity, a car I've driven in snow, ice, mud, over meadows. I take it anyplace I'd take a pickup. I use the back seat as a small pickup bed. Back seat and trunk, I have a an enclosed pickup. It has a big trunk. I needed to go to Carpenter's house to pick up two gallons of water for a week of morning coffee. I'd walked up the driveway three times in this snow and Justin drove his truck up and down it. It already had tracks and I knew the snow between the tracks was not too deep for the car. I had a mound of snow at the edge of the road to crash through and spin the front tires through, sliding this way and that, and come out the other side. Driving up the tracks was the same as without snow. Returning to the road was a slip-n-slide adventure for a moment. 

two turkeys

I need to hit those places with enough momentum to force my way at least half through and let the spinning tires use the momentum I'm able to provide for them to pull it the rest of the way. Let the momentum stop and that's it. Stuck as soon as it stops. Then there's no going forward or backward. I've learned the subtleties of driving on snow and ice with this car over the course of six winters. I've driven front-wheel drive, rear-wheel drive and four-wheel drive, all of them several years apiece, to know how to drive mountain roads in every condition with each one. Four-wheel is awfully good. It will take hold of about anything, even sheer ice if you know how to handle it. Four-wheel is handy. Now that I'm not working, don't need to be hauling things like ladders, toolboxes, shovels and so on, taking trash bags to the dump and hauling three bales of hay from the barn to the donkeys is all the hauling I do anymore. The trunk handles it fine. I've found the limits of front-wheel drive, places it would not go that I knew four-wheel could make it. Not many. Not enough to make the difference in expense and weight worth it. Front wheel drive, the weight of the engine is where it's needed, between the front wheels. Every fall I buy two new front tires and put the ones from the front on the back. I like having new tires on the front to pull me through winter. This old car doesn't look like much, but the motor and the driving train are in excellent running condition. I have a good mechanic who keeps it there. Any little thing new that comes up, I tell him the sound or the symptom, and like the guys on Car Talk, he knows what it is. He knows the engine of this car literally inside out, having worked on them at a dealership for a number of years when it was new. It just so happens he knows everything about my car. And, he's Crystal's daddy, Vada's grandpa. 

two turkeys

Main reason to go to town was birdseed. I was out of sunflower seeds. I buy that other mixed birdseed and the birds peck maybe half of it, but they take all the sunflower seeds. Nothing is left but pieces of shell all over the snow. The sunflower seed keeps the birds warm at night, keeps their joints greased, brightens their feathers. And the red squirrels. I've made my feral neighbors somewhat dependent, dependent by expectation. I don't want to leave them without for a day, especially when the ground is covered with snow and ice and it's zero at night. Little chickadees need something in the morning right away. I have to take carrots to the donkeys first and give them their hay. The moment I step out the door, Jack brays, Jenny attempts a bray that sounds like a high-pitched hound's bark. They're hopping up and down, Ice Cream Man finally woke up and has carrots. Carrots make them so happy in the morning they dance. Carrot time is happy time. Next is hay. Chickadees, titmice, snowbirds in the trees overhead call to me to come on with breakfast. The donkeys are ready to graze immediately. Carrots I buy every trip to town. The grocery store sells a big bunch of them for three dollars. It's like giving a kid ice cream. A bag a week. I'm happy to give them that. Was running low on sweet grain for the donkeys, would need some before Monday. A fifty pound bag of grain and a forty pound bag of birdseed from two different hardware stores. I could have bought both from one, but like to give my business to both places. It's my small support for each one. I don't have a great deal to offer, but what I have is best given to people I support. I feel like buying anything is a gesture of support for whoever made it and is selling it, be it working in an American sweatshop in Malaysia, or a regional band selling CDs and tshirts. I want to buy everything I need in Sparta. Exceptions like books, shoes and paint, I get online. I don't have much to support the local economy with, but what I have is given in the spirit of support.   

shadow on the snow

The grocery store packed with people on a Friday afternoon, never feeling congested, registers flowing with the traffic. Didn't see many people I knew. Parking lot packed. Everybody taking a breather, getting out, restocking some food. I tend to stay away from town on Friday afternoons when the traffic is from hell, the kind that makes people from Atlanta exclaim, "What traffic?" when I complain about Friday afternoon traffic in a town with three lights. Today was no choice. Needed water. Birds and donkeys calling. Low on catfood too. I felt comfortable, at home, where I belong. And, of course, spent twice what I intended going in. I don't pay attention to what I spend at the grocery store. If I don't buy it this time, I will next time,. It's all going to the same place. Grocery store done, went to the liquor store and bought a fifth of Wild Turkey Rye, good sipping liquor. Drove home with a six-inch chunk of ice on the hood, top and trunk lid. Mine was the only car in town with Monday's snow still on it, frozen solid. Even driving 63 through Thompson Flat didn't blow it loose. It will melt in a few days. Had to scrape ice from the windshield and free the wipers stuck in ice. The car started first crank, like in summer. I love a car that starts easily and dependably at zero. The drive to town and back was one of the beautiful days of the year when the mountain landscape is good as it gets, all in snow, clear sky with wispy clouds, and such a relief to have temperature above twenty. Talking with a woman at the gas station, she said we're having a heat wave. Any other time, twenty would be way too cold, but today, twenty was a welcome relief. The donkeys felt it too. They could graze with one side to the sun as to the fireplace, warm their bones before another cold night. 

donkey trail to the watering hole

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DONKEYS BELOW ZERO

donkey jack

This morning I went out with carrots to see the donkeys and toss them some hay. Jenny was standing at the gate waiting. Jack brayed and I couldn't see him. The steam of his breath I saw blow by the corner of the den. He was standing inside where it's not so cold. I handed him a carrot. He seemed grateful I didn't expect him to step out into the cold and stand on ice. He stepped out a ways, acting like he was so miserable he wanted to curl up into a ball. Jenny's demeanor gave the appearance that she was equally miserable, only more motivated by hunger than Jack. Of course, I apologized to them for not having better circumstances for them, a better barn with a door. I want to put blankets on them in the night, but know in the morning blankets would be stomped into their toilet, worthless and uncleanable. I spread some hay at their den's opening to give them the option to stand inside out of the cold air to graze. Also put some in the place I put the hay down for them day by day. Fortunately, the sun came out for awhile giving them a slight bit of warmth on one side at a time. Since my experience yesterday stepping into their den, surprised by the difference, I feel better about them at night. It was warm and pleasant, no wind inside, warmth radiating up from the floor. By warm, I don't mean summer day warm. Just noticeably warmer. At two below zero, the temperature in there could be two above. They spent much of the day inside the den. Jenny came out sometimes to graze. Jack came out a few times, too, but I had a feeling the ice on the ground made the zero air all the more difficult to bear. Nothing but ice to stand on. Ice to lie down on. He stayed in the den. I felt for him, too. I could easily imagine how agonizing it must be with only the blanket of your coat, below zero all night, and not above six during the day, no reprieve except huddled next to Jenny, the love of his life. 

donkey jen

Much as I want to comfort them, I'm freezing, dressed comfortable for 20, but not minus two, so I did not have a spirit for going into the shed and rubbing Jack's legs to help his circulation. I wanted to put a blanket over his back. My fingertips were freezing. Handling the blue plastic tarp, it minus two degrees, ice chunks from the snow hit my fingertips. Get used to it and do it. Like having cold feet. When the feet are so cold for so long I can't stand it any longer, I change shoes, put on ones I set on the heater. It warms them without making them hot. I put cold shoes there and change shoes a few times through the day. Jack does not have the option. His feet are cold all the time. I want to hug the donkeys, warm them. Later in the day, I took some sweet grain to them, more today than usual. They'll need it tonight. Put out some more hay. I want them to have all they can eat for these below zero nights. Forecast for tonight is minus seven. I almost feel guilty for having heat, blankets, sweaters, shoes, heavy socks. I have to remind self my whole body is acclimatized to the luxuries of civilization, like heat in the winter. I remember Marsha stressing the donkeys can take it and it is good for their health to take it. I think of the Rolling Stones song, Beast of Burden, am I rough enough, am I tough enough? I know the donkeys are tough and I know they can take it, but I feel Jack's agony with relentlessly cold feet. Beast of burden or not, he feels it. I feel like what makes donkeys exceptional is they can take it. Pictures of donkeys carrying things, acoustic pickup trucks, and carrying people, we think nothing of it. It's what donkeys do. If I'd trained Jack to carry things on his back, he would carry up to the very last ounce his legs could handle. 

donkey jack

In my first months with Jack, before Jenny, I was talking to him one day and said I would like to ride him. By then, I knew he was understanding what I was saying. He snorted his expression of agreement. He'd like it too. I said, I weigh so much, I don't want to hurt your back. He moved his head in an expression of appreciation. I heard the words in my head, "Thanks for consideration." This morning Jack seemed like he was shivering so hard it expressed in whimpering like a child about to break into tears, unable to quite get there. He went for the carrot like he was saying, Oh, thank you, thank you. He didn't chew very well, dropped one of the carrots. I'd say to him, Donkey Jack, and he would make a whimpering grunt, like appealing from the bottom of his heart for me to fix this weather condition with my human magic. I wanted to will them a place to get out of this cold at least long enough for their bones to thaw. I think of Himalayan climbers, able to function cold to the bone. Some come back with fingers, toes and nose gone to frostbite. I feel like Jack and Jenny are having a difficult time with the relentless zero degrees, but for having each other. Their hair is thick. Both have rolled in dust so much their backs are like soft clay. I touch either one of them on the back and a cloud of dust rises. I've learned the dust is valuable to them to keep parasites down and perhaps in winter the dust works as a form of insulation in their hair. They can get off their feet, hole up together in a corner and keep each other warm. As long as they're moving about, I know they're ok. Being in love as they are, the inter-dependent intimacy bonds them all the more. Jenny did not appear to be as shaken by below zero ground to stand on and the air so cold. I could see she was not comfortable. She could function. She reluctantly stood on the icy snow to graze on some hay. Jack preferred to stay near and inside their den. 

leaf 

I came to the house for some good, hot African coffee, to see what my friends are putting on facebook, see the political headlines for laughs. I don't need political cartoons anymore. The politicians are already hysterically comic. It gets them on tv. Name recognition. I don't care what you think of me, just remember my name, is their creed. Two-thirds a century of television and stupid is now electable, not just electable, preferred. How else explain the stardom of Sarah Palin and Ted Cruz? They're as vacant as the Hollywood stars, vacant as tv itself. USA is in a pickle, believe it or don't. Already is, not future tense. My younger friends are good at hunting and gardening, heat with wood, are resourceful, good at buying and selling, trading. I have confidence they will be all right. Then I turn to my artist friends at Daily Creative Practice and see the new images posted. I choose to live in this time without a future as if that's how it is all the time, which it is. I make my art objects. Not motivated by money, the absence of prospects to sell anything doesn't slow me down. I paint and put things together for now. Later is not my concern. I have a visual idea, put it together to completion, love it for itself, for the idea it becomes embodiment of, and be happy. Writing these daily entries for no reason but the doing is meditation time. I never took to sitting cross-legged and clearing my mind. Tried it for several years, felt some benefit from it, especially finding empty mind. I don't feel like I need to sit cross-legged on a pillow to go to empty mind. When things get a little to frantic swirling around in my head, I'll go to empty mind and take a break. These mind journeys I write open a door to the subconscious with empty mind looking for, waiting for images, words, a huge museum of memories, dances with them, makes connections, has insights, works out conundrums, and vents frustrations too. 

pole

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