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After plowing twice yesterday, I went out with the tractor this morning (a little hard starting at 10 degrees, I had starting fluid, ether [spell check?]).  Myrtle, the tractor, got hot (she was low on coolant) and I got cold (wind chill is real, and people, if your boots are tight, you are not improving the insulation factor - I know, I did it with my gloves inside of gloves today.  I can't remember when my fingers have been colder).  But we are in great shape, the County even plowed the road and the mail came too.  No wind here either (this is what spell check kept giving me for ether).

Wednesday is our hearty breakfast day, eggs and grits and lots of toast.  It helps to put fuel in the belly on a cold day.  I have had to put a little extra wood in the shop stove too, I didn't drain the "plumbing" and I've got some Jerusalem artichokes in there...  But I melted some lard from my disastrous attempt to make cracklin's at the store the other day, and I've made some high fat cakes for the poor little birds out there in those single digit temperatures.  Man!  How do they do that?   Those little tiny fluff balls.

Plus I've spent some highly inappropriate time on some American chestnut staffs (with silver soldered reinforcement rings, aluminum spikes in the bases, hand checking, and melted bee's wax wood finishes).  My wife, Chris, writes books that will be around for centuries (if the human race survives) and I try to make a few thingies that someone will want to keep a hundred years from now (if the human race survives) because they might appreciate the time, trouble, materials, and attention to detail, that I put into them.

Now, considering the fact that I believe that when I die, the “me” will be as ephemeral as the bacterium that you obliterated with some soap and water when you washed your arm pit this morning…  Why am I still trying?  Why does anybody still try?