The Farm is outside of town, on a mixed stretch of washboard pavement and dirt & gravel. This time of year it's got patches of ice and snow in various places and the roadsides are covered in snow. Every time we make the trip into town, or back home we see something that catches our eye. It could be a little farm tucked into the trees that we only noticed because it stood out against the white sparkling snow or the way the light sparkling snow blows across the road.
The other day we drove into town and spotted something lying on the other side of the road. It isn't a frequently traveled road so we agreed to stop on the way home and check it out. By the time we ran our errands and headed home the sun was beginning to set, the temperature was dropping, and there was a faint golden glow on the snow in the distance.
We stopped and got out of the van. Lying there, crumpled and broken was a beautiful ringneck pheasant. We thought perhaps it had been hit by a car, after all in California dead animals on the road are "road-kill". Bob carefully picked the pheasant up out of the road and gently place it on the snow beside the road where it would not be flattened by speeding cars.
It would be normal to feel some small vindication that the predator had lost, but in this unforgiving landscape there was a sadness that he had lost his dinner. Survival of the fittest really is the law of the land. The weak, and those unable to adapt to the cold and the wind do not survive. It is the circle of life.
It seems strange to me that a crockpot I've owned for 30 years, and hardly ever used since my kids were little, has re-surfaced and is now my favorite thing. A pot roast can simmer in beer and seasonings until it's butter tender. Parsnips, carrots, turnips, and onions go in to complete the meal. Of course for two people that's a lot, so after dinner the leftovers are cut into bite sized pieces and returned to the crock pot with some wine and refrigerated overnight.