Cold Spell

I shiver. It’s only a mile to the barn, but the temperature has been dropping all day. I check the thermometer. Fourteen degrees. My coat, hat, and gloves feel invisible. So does my long underwear. The pond has completely frozen over. Only the neighbor’s sheep, standing out of the wind, noses buried in their hay, seem oblivious to the cold. I make a beeline for the truck. The steering wheel is like ice; even with gloves on, it all but grabs my fingers. But there’s no use starting the heater. It would only blow cold air. If possible🔒

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Julie Gochenour, a member of Valley Meeting in Dayton, Virginia, is a former editor of the magazines Virginia Farmer, Southern Dairy, and Cooperative Farmer, and the former co-editor of "Shenandoah Seasons," a culinary newsletter. She is currently working on a Master of Art in Religion degree at Eastern Mennonite University. She also is a news editor for Friends Journal. This article was originally published in DreamSeeker Magazine, Winter 2002 issue; http://pandorapressus.com/dsm/; reprinted with permission.

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