So his plan was always to keep one steer or heifer from that spring’s calf crop, fatten it up and send it to fall market. It had always worked out well, and it was one of the fruits of immense joy for him to have the means to make it a joyous Christmas.

I saw something new to me on the internet the other day. A snowplow. Not just your ordinary snowplow, but a snowplow pulling a full trailer.

Having only one chicken has put me in an awkward position. Can I even call myself a chicken lady anymore? Can I wear my chicken pajamas? Can I buy the chicken socks I’ve had my eye on? I’m guessing not. If my grammatical calculations are correct, owning one bird means I should be called a hen lady now. That puts me just one step away from being called an old hen – a step that’s way too close for my comfort.

We hear about the “magic” of the season a lot this time of year, but what exactly is it about Christmas that makes us feel this way? Is it the family gatherings, the laughter, the warmth of a cozy fire, the festive lights or is it something else?