Getting Through The Winter In Maine

And I'm not just talking about food.

I'm talking about the mental toughness you need to call yourself a true Mainer.

Because by February, every person north of Kennebunkport, or what we call "northern Massachusetts," is ready to throw in the towel. I'm sure if you checked Google Analytics you would see a spike in searches for real estate in Florida coming from Maine IP addresses during the first three months of the year. Every year I vow I'm going to move away, at least for the winter months, every year.

And then August rolls around and it's been so hot that the thought of crystal clear icy cold air is appealing.

Until February comes around again, and it's back to self-hatred for allowing yourself to be subjected to this frigid cold for this long a time period.

Our lambs were born in the depths of it. The first two Collinson lambs came on Valentines Day in the middle of blizzard Neptune. Hence we named them Neptune and Romeo. Luckily, being the experienced farmers that we are, the lambs just appeared between periods of checking on the mamas. We brought each one in to the basement to warm it up, but then felt horrible returning them to their mom in the below zero barn. We gave her and her babies a heat lamp, which seemed to throw as much heat as a 15 watt exposed light bulb.

Myself with newborn Neptune and Davyd with baby Romeo.

Here's how we kept tabs on the babies, our very own "Lamb Cam";

The third lamb, Chocolate, was born two days later as Neptune was still raging. We stole the second heat lamp from the chickens. There were many nights I have gone to bed distressing over the hens, thinking of them huddling together in their coop trying to keep warm as the temps plummeted into the night. They are all still alive, but have that ragged shell-shocked look. I think once we start to see green grass they'll spring back. 

Similar to their human fellow farm inhabitants.

Proud mama Bella nuzzling Davyd and baby Chocolate

What has kept the animals most comfortable throughout this snowy freezing winter has been their deep bedding. This is a technique where you layer hay in their stalls or pen that creates a very thick layer of insulation below them. The sheep stalls have about two feet of hay under the lambs, and the chicken bedding is up to about a foot. Then there is around eight feet of snow insulating the outside of the barn. Between this insulation and their wool and down coats, they are able to withstand the temperatures, although I can't imagine it's very comfortable.

How Hobbes the cat gets through the cold winter

We humans are fortunate to have two wood stoves going round the clock. It keeps the house cozy, but does provide a stark contrast when you have to go outside and clean stalls, feed the animals their hay and grain, and chop up all the frozen water buckets multiple times a day. And then load wood from the barn and bring in enough to get through the evening and next day. I don't know how Davyd does it. In and out, in and out. He is out for hours at a time tending to the animals or getting us more wood.

So why do we live here again? In this freezing tundra that makes it hard to breath outside for months upon months. In a place where you do a little inner happy dance when you see the temperature on your drive to work is on the plus side of zero. Where you can't access your front yard without becoming a snowy mountain climber destined to get stuck from your waist down while trying to fill the bird feeders. 

We live here because we're Mainers. Many of us have tried living other sunnier places, and yet always end up back here. There's something magical about living in a place where change is guaranteed. Yes, the snow is going to pile up above your head. Yes, you are going to have to take microwaved corn cozies to bed for about half the year. 

But then this amazing thing happens where one day you go outside and can't believe that the snow has almost disappeared. You can pack away your ankle-length down coat into the storage closet. You can enjoy your first meal on the deck you knew was out there somewhere. You can re-acquaint yourself with the space known as the outdoors.

And it's wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. You have made it through the depths of winter and are rewarded with the most refreshing spring that you can remember.

Gwyn is happy to be outdoors greeting the chickens on a fresh spring morning.