The month is winding down, and the day is winding down, and MeeMaw and I are grateful that we have heat and light and food and the night together. This snowstorm wasn't as destructive as the last one (the snow was not quite as heavy or wet), but we got somewhere between a foot and a foot-and-a-half here at Possum Cough. We kept our power - God be praised - and we've plenty of food and books and old movies, so it's been a peaceful, happy weekend.
Church was canceled this morning; the entire northern part of Sullivan County was shut down and the Bloomingdale area (where our congregation meets) was impassable. John called me last night and made the decision early, so that folks would know. We don't know if we'll be able to make it to work in the morning or not - we'll cross that particular snowy bridge when we come to it. Personally, I feel that a three-day weekend would be an utter tragedy. Yes, indeedy.
MeeMaw is doing well. She's puttering in the kitchen right now, preparing our chicken fried steak for supper. She's also baking me a loaf of bread and a pecan pie, sweet wifely woman that she is. Purrl is sitting next to me, gazing out the glass door at the birds in the snow, and Bonnie is in the kitchen with MeeMaw, praying for a crumb or a scrap to fall to earth. Butternut is packed into a sleeping hostile little yellow lump in the middle bedroom, dreaming of an endless line of ankles and a new set of titanium teeth.
The first night of the storm (Friday), Bonnie and I had another adventure. The snow was coming down very hard, and naturally the red dog needed to go outside. MeeMaw was taking a nap on the couch, so we were stealthy while I bundled up, and off we went, down across the front pasture to the road and then into Mr. D's pasture across the road.The entire time, Bonnie was skittish and jumpy and distracted. She "did her business" and then turned to go back to the house, the very picture of determination. Right about that time, I heard her growl, very low and rumbly. I stopped, she stopped. Then I realized that the growl wasn't coming from her. It was coming from the impenetrable shadows at the edge of the woods on the other side of Mr. D's fenceline. Bonnie was pointing with her body, tail straight out in back and puffed up to three times its normal size, her head low and her lips pulled back from her teeth.
Then the mountain lion screamed.
Bonnie bolted, trying to pull me towards the road. I yanked on her leash and began backing up, keeping my eyes on the treeline, talking to Bonnie in a low voice. After a few steps, I heard the creature running in the snow-covered leaves. Bonnie yanked on her leash very hard and I did what every good Southern boy does when faced with a monster: I fell down on my back in the snow. I had the very distinct thought, "Well, this is it. This is how it ends for me."
Bonnie was trying to pull me to my feet, and she was growling and yelping in fear. I jumped up and pulled out the only weapon I was carrying: a foldable tree saw MeeMaw got me some time ago. I keep it in my coat pocket when I walk Bonnie because it is a very wicked weapon and can lay anyone or anything open to the bone with one swipe. I highly recommend you fellows get one...they're perfectly legal and perfectly lethal. Anyway, I pulled out the saw and began backing up again. Bonnie was growling and trying to pull me away, and I noticed that she wasn't looking in the same direction she had been earlier. The mountain lion screamed again, and all the adrenaline in my body slammed into my heart. The thing had run down the fenceline while I was scrambling around on the ground and now was somewhere near the trees. Somewhere between us and Possum Cough.
"It's hunting us, girl," I told Bonnie. Her eyes carried a distinct response. "No ****, old man."
We made our way via a wide, circuitous route to the road, me holding Bonnie close and brandishing my saw blade. Once we hit the road, we took off in a dead run. And while we were running, Ernie's dogs and the Kegley's dogs down in the holler were going absolutely insane. We made it back to the house and found MeeMaw napping on the couch. There was no way I was going to wake her up and present this little narrative to her, so I waited until later after she awoke and was less likely to be horrified by what had happened.
My plan didn't work. MeeMaw was horrified anyway. But later that night, after midnight, Bonnie wanted to go out again. This time, Mr. Remington went along with us, eager to meet Mr. Mountain Lion. I didn't get to make the introductions this time. But I'm going to alert all our neighbors and the county extension agent just in case.
This Friday, our wood burning stove is slated to be delivered. We're looking so very, very forward to this event. Even if it turns into summer the next day, at least we'll know we're prepared for next winter in a big way. We're also having the back yard fenced in, as soon as the snow allows the young feller and his crew to begin setting posts. Bonnie will love being able to romp at will, and I will love not having to accompany her on every single nocturnal urination and defecation and perambulation. I have to get my chain saw fired up and drop one tree and one old stump before Darren and his crew show up for the fence installation. Firewood for next year. I'll also have to build a woodshed of some sort so that we can have good seasoned wood near the house. The tasks keep multiplying but it's a joyful thing. The only thing that would make it even more joyful would be if I had a couple of strong young men living nearby who could help me in my frail golden years as I try to eke out an existence for their saintly mother here on the wild frontier of Southwest Virginia.
I don't know if Jason and Karen got to meet him or not, but I do remember that Joshi-O met our friend, Mr. Paul, at church. He's the older gentleman who had a brain aneurism....walks with a cane and has a bit of a speech impediment nowadays? He was in my office Friday to get blood work done, and wasn't looking well at all. He's had a lot of health problems lately. Anyway, Ginger from church called MeeMaw a little while ago and said that Mr. Paul was admitted to Holston Valley Hospital at 3 am today with what looks like cardiac problems. Please pray for him. He and his wife Bernice are two of the finest people we know. Humble servants, both of them. Paul used to be a master carpenter, building bookshelves and furniture, etc. (many of the furnishings at our church building were fashioned by him), and he's a formidable musician. He's been a bluegrass picker for decades and used to play at all the churches and dances in this area. Bernice takes care of him full time, and she also takes care of their elderly neighbor full time. Very special folks, those two.
We put out sunflower seed for the cardinals today, and they are enjoying it with great gusto. Very fat redbirds, too! They must have their winter plumage on, or thermal underwear, or something. I can't get a shot of them...they're very skittish in the snow. Perhaps they're aware of what attractive targets they make for all the creatures, red in tooth and claw, that populate our little farm.
MeeMaw snapped this while I was napping yesterday. Did she tell y'all about Bonnie sticking her muzzle down my throat while I was napping and snoring? We theorize that she thought a badger was down in a hole, growling in the throes of rabies, and the red dog was trying to protect the family. Let me assure you that coming out of pleasant dream to find one's self staring into the copper-colored eyes of a curious dog is rather unsettling. And then realizing that the red dog's eyes are so close to one's own because the dog's snout is touching one's uvula is, well, extry revolting.
Last night, the moon was out and the snow was slowing down a bit, so Bonnie and I went for a long, long walk. No mountain lions, but I did see what I think was a mule deer. He came out of the treeline over by the spring and stopped long enough for me to get a good look. His head was enormous, like a horse or a donkey, and he was massive and dark. Ran like crazy down the middle of the road toward the spring and disappeared down there somewhere.
As Bonnie and I were coming back up the steep curve in the road, I heard something down in the pasture by the old stock pond. A bunch of coyotes were watering, and I must have startled them. The wind was with us and Bonnie didn't even detect their presence until they were disappearing into the woods. Very pretty to watch, their running from the presence of one of Adam's sons. Like wraiths. Silent, wheeling, ethereal.
We're already starting to make tentative (and I emphasize that word, loved ones) plans about things for this spring at the Cough. Blueberry bushes, fruit trees, a shade tree or two, and some chickens. I'd really like to start a beehive, too, but we'll see. Being snowbound makes one antsy to start doing things.
Rest well, loved ones.~ PeePaw
