Farmhouse

The little farmhouse next door is surrounded by a fairytale grove of snow covered trees this morning.   The snow keeps coming down.  Glad I didn't dig out and get on the road.  They are covered, too, reports tell me.   A fifty mile round trip commute would not have been pleasant in the little Saturn.  Matt is coming out from Syracuse tonight to plow for me with the Ford 8N.  It's sixty years old and running fine.  We need chains for it, and a front loader.  Just those two items would run into thousands.  It never ends.  A farm is a giant hole to pour your money into until the day you die.  In the meantime, I'm enjoying the views, and this gift of free time.