Just when I thought that Spring was hiding behind the big tree, winter returned with a ferocity, pushing Spring from her hiding place and spoiling it for everyone.
We are beginning to feel a bit wearied, The Farmer and I. 'Trauchled' is the Scots word.
I felt worried for him as he looked unwell yet we had to plod on and get the work done. He lay in a heap on the sofa once we came inside so I put on a huge fire, made hot lemon juice and gave him some painkillers. It was early afternoon and the little one was at nursery.
The Farmer felt guilty that he was lying in a heap instead of tackling the myriad of jobs to be done outside. Farmers tend not to 'lie down' to feeling unwell but push themselves to the end of their energy until they look quite dreadful.
"Let's just stay in and have an elderly moment by the fire" I suggested. I felt there was no harm at all in having a quiet moment, just the two of us absorbing the peace and heat from the fire.
He slept and I sat on the hearth, hogging most of the heat which felt good. The snow continued to fall outside in big wet blobs and I was glad we were not out being slapped with it's icy fingers.
It was a relatively quiet evening. The Farmer and his son slept cuddled up to each other. The bathroom ceiling caved in a bit and poured water all over the floor. PieDog sneaked in to the kitchen and stole some eggs from the table.
It did not matter.
I think we were all too tired to care and it could be dealt with in the morning.
He feels a bit better today after a good sleep. The water and eggs are cleared away, it is still snowy outside.
I have now developed a taste and hankering for peaceful moments by the fire with The Farmer and told him.
"We can do it again when we are 65", he said. And for just a moment, I nearly believed
him.
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