It seems that every June, just as we start anticipating endless stretches of dry warm weather, we get one last gasp of winter. Well, spring.
This is when windy, rainy, damp-chilly temperatures come sweeping over the Idaho panhandle, and we all wonder if our gardens will ever thrive, must less produce anything.
This morning it was barely ten degrees above freezing.
When I opened the door to the chicken coop, I noticed the older birds had booted the baby chicks away from the heat lamp while they luxuriated under its warmth, the greedy things. That changed once the coop door was opened and the adults could go outside. After that the chicks claimed the lamp once more.
I finally gave in and lit a fire in the woodstove because I was tired of being cold.
Lydia didn't mind the temps, and sacked out on the front porch.
In about a month, when we're all suffering through endless dry hot days, we'll look back at this and laugh. But meanwhile the fire feels good.