Sometimes when people come up the long road to where we live I can see in their eyes a certain quizzical look. How do they live up here?

A few years back, when I worked in the corporate ranks and we were in the middle of constructing this house, there were some people who thought building a solar home was the same as erecting a yurt.

Honestly, if we?d had a housewarming party, I would have fully expected to receive butter churning gloves and shuttles for my loom.

I entertained the idea of having these folks over for dinner some night. In my fantasy, I would have a few goats, chickens, perhaps a donkey butting about in the kitchen while I, dressed in homespun cotton with a bonnet on my head, gaily brushed the straw off my guests? shoulders when it fluttered down from the ceiling.

It would be worth the work to set up the scenario just to see their faces.

The truth is, life up here is rather normal. Of course, we have our moments.

Such as when twelve inches of snow decide to drop and the plow truck is leaking transmission fluid like a stuck pig.

What?s going on in this picture? Why that is T, back from a long day at the office, in the pitch dark (except for the headlights of my car) trying to repair the rusted fuel line. This includes having to crawl under the truck-- yes, on his back in the snow-- and have transmission fluid drip all over his face and head. Did you know that stuff smells worse than gasoline? Me neither. (UPDATE: nope, not fixed. Going to try again today in the daylight, such as it is).

Where are we while this valiant effort is underway? Well some of us are curled around the woodstove as if it were a slumber party.

And others have used the woodstove to whip up a favorite treat for the man when he comes in from homesteadin?.

Boy howdy. If you could hear the wind howling outside my window right now, I assure you, there would be no talk of how much you wished you could see snow. It?s wild out there. We?ve got feeders out for the birds, but still?oh, the little creatures. I hope they are tucked in tight.

Of course, in a couple of hours when I get into my car to drive to Boston, I?m going to hear the scritch scritch above my head?the sound of the mice who have decided to winter in the roof of my car? and I will have far, far less loving thoughts of the woodland critters, I assure you.

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