The yard is a squishy, slushy, thawing, mess, which speaks of spring, except it’s windy-cold out and a couple of inches of snow are expected this evening.

However, time marches inexorable. (Such a cliche phrase, but I can’t resist using the word inexorable.) There’s proof of it in my pond.

In the fall, when the weather gets chilly, the fish in the pond slow down. I stop feeding them. In winter, ice and snow covers the water feature and the fish hibernate under the big rock.

The ice is receding.

Look who’s swimming around.

The Beast survived the winter, too. I saw her yesterday, moving slowly, but moving.

It didn’t rain yesterday! No snow, no slush, no drizzle. Not even strong winds. Despite the clouds and the overall grey (oh, how I wish for some cheering sun,) snow melted and the chickens spied grass through the fence. They insisted on an outing. I checked the skies for hawks. All clear.

Buffy strides right out. I haven’t seen her move this fast for ages.

The ice around the goat’s paddock gate finally melted, so they got an outing, too.

Why stand on one chair, when you can try out two?

But, the boys don’t go too far without checking back in with me.

Everyone likes a different perspective on their home. Philomena gets up high. Caper tastes the door handle. Life is just so interesting!

This morning wet snow flurries are coming down. Leaves are blowing and treetops swaying – it’s exactly how March winds are supposed to be. But, it’s a springtime blow, we can all feel it. Smell it, too. The mint in the goat’s paddock is coming up, and when I raked there yesterday, the air smelled green.

My bedroom window looks out into the backyard. When I woke this morning, delighted to see the sun (a brief respite before more snow and rain) I lucked out and saw Pip at the very moment that my husband opened his stall door to let him out. I think that Pip was as surprised to see the sun as I was. Instead of a inch of standing water on top of ice, there was bare ground underfoot. Pip leapt. He ran. He bounced. In short, he gamboled. I grinned. And I thought, how often does a person get to use the word gambol? It’s a good life when that’s the first thing one thinks of in the morning.

gambol |ˈgambəl|verb ( -boled , -boling ; Brit. -bolled, -bolling) [ intrans. ]run or jump about playfully

The goats are shedding. They have itches. If you scratch Pip between his forelegs he goes into a happy goat trance. See the smile?

More than 150 people came out yesterday to the Westford Farmer’s Market Backyard Chicken Program. This is a good-sized crowd by any measure, but even more so considering that it was a gorgeous sunny above-freezing day, the sort of afternoon meant for walks and outdoor chores, not being cooped up in a church hall (pun unintended but noted.) But, there they were, people of all ages, interested in keeping poultry.

I’d be delighted to bring my presentation to your town. Email me at terry@terrygolson.com for details.