There’s just something about a wind chill in the double digits below zero that makes you feel alive! Skin defined by that cold knife, clearly marking the boundaries of the body, breath burning in your chest. Then, of course, there’s the part that comes after that first few minutes when the ache yields to numbness and all of thinking turns to warmth and shelter. Something in the wind of a bitter day makes me grateful for having an indoor job and glad that I don’t have to get up at four-thirty and head to the milk barn.

I have enough of precious memories from that era of my life, of morning milkings and evening feedings and my feet and face stinging in the cold. Memories of jersey gloves, cheap boots and two pairs of socks not being enough to keep away the cold for the two hours it took for the chores. The stinging turning to pain.

There were better memories, too. Playing in the creek, fishing and building forts in the hayloft. Good memories, a strong work ethic and a love of the outdoors. But not enough to have ever made me nostalgic for the dairy farm.

I know how spoiled my life is now. I know and am grateful for every warm moment.

H. Arnett
12/15/09