Our weather has taken a turn back into Winter lately; snow showers with unseasonable cold driven even further down the scale by brisk winds. Bishop Seraphim, who lives several hours north of our supposedly Southern latitude has coined a new phrase, "Indian Winter," to capture our current climactic variation. On the road just outside of town, frozen daffodils wilt in the median, relics of the warm breezes that came through just a short time ago.

Midwinter spring is its own season
Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown,
Suspended in time, between pole and tropic.
When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire,
The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches,
In windless cold that is the heart's heat,
Reflecting in a watery mirror
A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon.
And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier,
Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but pentecostal fire
In the dark time of the year. Between melting and freezing
The soul's sap quivers. There is no earth smell
Or smell of living thing. This is the spring time
But not in time's covenant. Now the hedgerow
Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom
Of snow, a bloom more sudden
Than that of summer, neither budding nor fading,
Not in the scheme of generation.
Where is the summer, the unimaginable
Zero summer?

From "Little Gidding" Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot

The "eclectic but orthodox" folks at Eighth Day Books have put together a series of excellent suggestions for Lenten reading. As useful as Amazon may be, we shouldn't forget about those wonderful independents like Eighth Day who operate as much for love as for profit. Owner Warren Farha reflects on his vocation here.

The lamb in yesterday's picture, together with her mother.

In a reversal of the proverb, March comes in like a lamb.

Two new lambs this weekend. I was surprised that they came now, in the relatively nice weather instead of the last snow, but I am certainly grateful. The boys have the new arrivals in pens with their mothers. If I have time, I will post pictures tomorrow.

Today is "Meatfare" Sunday on the Orthodox calendar, marking the last week of preparation before Lent. This week the observant begin abstaining from meat until Easter, followed by dairy products next Sunday. I usually try and post some appropriate Lenten reading suggestions during this season. In keeping with past custom, I will list some books throughout the week, and I will also attempt something I haven't tried before. As part of my own observance I will be re-reading Alexander Schmemann's Great Lent and will try, beginning next Sunday, to post excerpts from and reflections inspired this and other of Schmemann's works as we journey towards Pascha.

Here is a picture from a few days ago during the snow. As you can see, sheep are very serious about eating.

Another backdated entry; our cable connection has been acting up causing posts to vanish into whatever quasi-metaphysical space there is that houses thoughts attached to electrons gone astray.

I am writing this after rummaging through dresser drawers in search of old glasses. I keep a spare at the office, but here at home I find only one relic from the early nineties, tortoise rimmed and goggle-sized. I wore them about two prescriptions and several turns of fashion ago. What, you may ask, happened to my gold-rimmed bifocals, appropriately styled for the new millennium? Sheep happened. Our barn, like Caesar's Gaul, is divided into three parts. One is our working area together with the four lambing pens. The second part opens into the paddock where the ewes with lambs stay. The third opens to the barnyard and larger pasture where the ewes still expecting come in for the evening feeding. This evening feeding was later than usual as Susan and I had met for dinner at the South Street Grill in town. (Nice place, classic diner food, cheap by big city standards.) So there I was after dark down in the barn. I had put out the feed for the ewes with lambs and let them in. They were in a bit of a rush, as they did not appreciate the delay in dinner. I was putting out grain on the other side of the barn when I noticed a lamb had gotten caught in the press and was upside down under a feed trough. I knelt down and reached through the gate panel dividing the barn, head pressed against the metal tubing as I stretched towards the lamb. Behind me was the gate to the barnyard, the gate chain stretched to the maximum as hungry ewes pressed against it. One ewe was convinced that, if only she could get my attention, food would be forthcoming. She put her head between the bars of the gate and lunged. In a classic illustration of the continuing effectiveness of Newtonian physics on a macro level, her head struck my head which in turn struck the gate in front of me. The vision in my right eye blurred. Disoriented, I started feeling for the incipient lump that signaled an oncoming concussion, and found instead that there was no longer a lens in the right eye of my glasses. Picture a man on his hands and knees in a darkened, dirt floor barn, right eye closed, peering through a left bifocal, trying to find a small oval of glass while sheep hooves are stamping around him. Not much luck there. I did get the lamb upright and out of the crush before walking back to house, squinting like Popeye as I picked my way up the dark hillside.

I have been reading in the poems and essays of Joseph Brodsky lately. One surprise, at least for me, was the discovery that Brodsky considered himself a disciple of W. H. Auden. While I cannot match Brodsky's devotion, nonetheless I am also an admirer of Auden's. Here are the opening lines of an early poem of his which have always moved me.

Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.

For the rest of the poem, go here.

The white line just below the ridge is the snowpack on Skyline Drive. The view from home, looking east a little before sundown.

Waiting for dinner.

Tuesday afternoon, just before sunset.

Snowfall at sunset.

We have had a few false alarms this season. Today appears to be the real thing. A scene from a snowy afternoon, looking toward Buck Mountain.

Another snowfall predicted for tonight. The track of the storm is still uncertain, but it looks to be a big one. I had the boys carry the bags for tomorrow's feedings down tonight and have the barn open for the sheep to take shelter. It looks like Monday will be a good day to stay close to home. Unfortunately, I have trials in traffic court up in Winchester at 9:00 a.m and 2:00 p.m.. If you are travelling between Front Royal and Winchester tomorrow, I'll be the guy in the dark suit with the white knuckles gripping the wheel of a gray farm truck.

Another shot from yesterday, before the snow melted away. More winter weather predicted for Sunday night. The lambing pens are empty for the first time in weeks. Perhaps the next wave will come with the snow.

Sheep barn, pasture, Skyline Drive and the last of the snow.

But it didn't stay long.

Snow last night.

Our internet connection has been having problems, so here is last night's post, backdated appropriately.

If you have been following this blog for a while, you know that we use llamas to guard our sheep from roaming dogs and coyotes. Most llamas are pleasant sorts, but there are exceptions to every rule. We have one of those exceptions, aptly named "Spitfire." He and I had an encounter during feeding time tonight, which resulted in the following conversation:

Susan: He spit in your face?
Me: Look at my glasses. Do you see the green flecks and slime?
Susan: Really, he spit right in your face?
Me: Yes, right in the face and trust me, the smell is simply enchanting.
Susan: You should take a bath.
Me: I don't want a bath. If I take a bath I will be sitting there in floating llama spit. I'm taking a shower.

Most photo software these days comes with a red-eye reduction feature. I'm still looking for the special edition for sheep with the "blue-eye" correction button.