We are not struck. We are definately not struck at all. We walk gingerly along the paths that Dad has dug for us to get from point A to point B, not daring to veer onto the icy white stuff that freezes our toes. The barn has become a place of sanctity and we are joined by all manner of wildlife seeking refuge (and food).
 The snowy garden at the Big House on Saturday |  and Mum had left Kizzie's jumper out on the line overnight |  The Big Field this morning |
Harvey and Honey seem to like following the tracks and they play and leap about. Very strange. Lois sits regally on a bed of hay in the middle of her field, her body warm, but her normally white coat overpowered by the brightness of the snow. Here and there are holes dug and blades of grass and leaves exposed. The blackbirds and the robins are especially busy. Back in the yard we welcomed the sunshine this morning even though it wasn't particularly warm. Harry the Peacock ventured down from the Big Oak and sat on the fence preening himself, his tail growing more and more lustrous. The sheeps' wool hanging on the barbed wire fence (doubtless waiting to provide nesting material in a week or two) was drying out again and sparkling in the snowy sunshine. Before Sylvia and the girls think about babies it will definately have to warm up a bit. But it is nearly Valentine's Day and spring is just around the corner. We hope! Love Gordon xxx
 Someone's has been digging for tasty shoots |  Was it Mr Fox? |  Mum trodged down to give Lois her Hay this morning |