White-out conditions are never fun. We get late March blizzards in Wyoming, but this was into its third day. The forecast said it would break around midnight, but the animals didn't know that, so I had to make my way to the barn and look in on them. Fortunately, I'd strung a wire from the house to the barn so I could get there without getting lost. I know two other sheep ranchers who died in the snow because they couldn't find their way to or from the barn in a white-out.
It wasn't fun, running my gloved hand along the wire as I trudged while carrying my pack over my right shoulder, my face in a mask pulled down and a scarf around my neck. With the parka, overalls, and snow boots, I was warm enough but the driving snow stung my eyes. Betty offered to take a turn, but I'm not letting anyone go out in my place to do the chores in bad weather there unless I'm flat on my back and sicker than a dog. God knows, the woman could do anything I can. Hell, on Christmas she rolled naked in the snow for two straight minutes on a dare. Course, it meant I had to hold her close half the night as she shivered, but I didn't mind that.
Finally I got to the barn, got the door open and went in to take a look around. The sheep were all huddled together, baaing loudly to see me, and I had to warm up before I fed them. You have to sprint to pour out a trough of feed for them or the damn things will knock you over trying to get at it. Getting trampled is no fun. I looked I on the horses, who were happy to see me as well. I fed them first, stroking them a little as they greeted me individually. Their situation was good, so I filled a 5 gallon bucket of grain from the feed storage for the flock.
Taking a deep breath, I made a break for it, running at top speed while pouring the grain out, while the surge of four legged wool came after me. Who says I don't get any exercise? I beat them to the end of the feeding trough and was able to stop. Sauntering back, I filled another bucket and did another sprint down the trough on the other side, and all was good. Their water wasn't frozen, and the thermometer indicated the place was comfortably above freezing.
Nothing needed maintenance, so I waded back through the snow to the house, making a detour once I got there to check the generator shed. We might be able to live without it, God knows my great-grandfather did without when he first settled here, but it was better to make sure it was in good shape. It was, and there was plenty of gas in the reserve tank to last until the roads were open again. Time to settle in.
Betty was at the stove when I came in. She did about two things well there: the classic breakfast combo of bacon and eggs, and variations on lamb stew. I did everything else in the kitchen, and she did everything else in the house. The place was comfortably tidy without being obsessive about it. My house is a one level ranch house with three bedrooms, and I keep it pretty tight to keep in the heat. The furnace mainly keeps the pipes from freezing, and we spend most of our time in the main room in front of the fire in the winter time, even sleep in front of it.
"Make sure and take off your boots," she said as the door closed. "You forget and track ice all over the damn place too often."
"Yes, mother," I replied in a caustic tone. "You want me to wash my hands before dinner?"
"And your mind. A horny guy like you probably thinks being snowed in with a girl means you can have your way with her day and night."
I felt a tingle with those words: that was Betty's way of coming on. Sure, we don't have a warm and fuzzy relationship other than spooning on the bearskin rug in front of the fire, but we've settled into something special. Hell, meeting her last summer was one of the best things that happened to me for a couple of decades.
"Well, you wear a hot outfit like that, a guy can't help himself. Almost ready to bust my fly thinking about tapping that ass." Betty was wearing a rather formless nightgown under a housecoat, with fuzzy pink slippers, and no makeup. She was growing her hair out, and the black locks hung to her shoulders. In a month of so, she'd cut it short before we went out to the high pastures. She was tall and strong, not terribly skinny nor really fat. Her ass was big, but not as big as the mountains. However, I did want to tap her ass sometime soon.
She turned to bat her eyes at me extravagantly. "Just remember castration season might start before spring gets here."
I laughed at her. "How soon on the food?"
"Let's give it about thirty minutes, maybe forty five. Should be edible by then."
"Great. I'll do a pan of cornbread, put together a salad."
"I'll take a bath. That'll give you time to check the news and farm prices online. Just don't surf the damn porn sites and get any more stupid ideas I'll have to say 'no' to, Bill Davis."
Getting stone ground cornmeal, flour, baking soda and power, and buttermilk together with salt and pepper in a bowl was no big problem; I don't know why anybody uses a mix for this. The oven was already warm because Betty was reading my mind again. After putting the pan in, putting the salad together was pretty easy as well, although we do use a salad spinner on my ranch. We're not without a few luxuries.
The snow was still coming down pretty good, and we'd probably have to spend the afternoon shoveling it off the roof. The house is pretty sturdy, however I don't like to take chances. We started yesterday with that wonderful task, and it took the rest of the day for us to recover. Hell, we aren't spring chickens. Soaking in the hot bathtub together afterward was pretty nice even though we weren't up for any more exercise.
A check online showed everything was reasonable. We'd made enough profit this past year to make a couple of safe investments that weren't destroying the earth or robbing the Third World very much, and they were producing as expected. Sheep prices were all right, and the outlook was good. The weather radar indicated the snow was tapering off and would be gone soon. The only bad news was an email from my son Johnny telling me he'd have to sign up for another tour overseas. There were adorable grandchildren pictures on Facebook, and I liked them all as a good grandpa should.
She came out in green sweats and barefoot. That woman could take the cold like no one I'd ever met. "Well, are we broke yet?"
"Nope. Got a couple of new ideas, though. Want to hang you upside down from the ceiling with your legs spread and sodomize you with a baseball bat. Game?"
