We hope all are warm and well at your house, as we are here on our little farm.
We are waiting for winter now — snow is just to the south and west of us — and looking forward to the longer days that Christmas will bring. Here in the bare-branched silence behind our garden gate, I guess we are growing older.
And so goes another year. Ho, ho, ho! A merry Christmas to you all. We think of you often, always with best wishes.
It has been a good year for us, for the most part, though hard at times. A grand spring brought tall, wet grass for our horse and donkeys and freed Fred and me to travel, him with his surfboard to Costa Rica and me with my walking shoes to the Saint James Trail across northern Spain. Then, the summer broke my heart. It took my beloved Gwynnydonk who had been my companion and confessor for 21 years. We buried her beneath the treeline of the pasture, and now when I look out the window, I see just one horse and one donkey and a mound of red clay slowly melting into the ground where Gwynny used to stand.
Already on the day we buried her, the fall was coming on with spectacular beauty. I don’t know why, but the season has been just breathtaking. This time of year, we are mostly at home. We walk in the evenings. Fred has his fires in the fireplace, the dog and cat spraw in front of it, and eggnog warms in the microwave. I am occupied with my new paella pan, experimenting with shellfish and veggies. I love paella because it puts just one big dish on the table; it is a food of community, like breaking bread or sharing wine.
Already on the day we buried her, the fall was coming on with spectacular beauty. I don’t know why, but the season has been just breathtaking. This time of year, we are mostly at home. We walk in the evenings. Fred has his fires in the fireplace, the dog and cat spraw in front of it, and eggnog warms in the microwave. I am occupied with my new paella pan, experimenting with shellfish and veggies. I love paella because it puts just one big dish on the table; it is a food of community, like breaking bread or sharing wine.
Fred spent last weekend stretched out on the couch reading The Mighty Eighth, a collection of WWII memoirs, while I baked sugar cookies and sat at the dining room table grinding away at Christmas cards. These will be the first cards I have sent in many years. I don't know what has come over me.
We are waiting for winter now — snow is just to the south and west of us — and looking forward to the longer days that Christmas will bring. Here in the bare-branched silence behind our garden gate, I guess we are growing older.
And so goes another year. Ho, ho, ho! A merry Christmas to you all. We think of you often, always with best wishes.
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