Barns and horses...

A break in the storm took us out on the trails today, and the rain held off until the last hundred feet before we reached the truck. And then it let loose. Still, I took a chance and got a little wet, to snap a few pictures of this beautiful Gothic barn, built of cinder blocks, with fresh paint and a metal roof.

And as we drove into town for breakfast at our favorite little diner, I thought about barns and rain, and being a horse owner. Some of my happiest times were spent in a barn, taking care of my Thoroughbred gelding, who would stand in the barn aisle and nod off to the sound of rain drumming on the roof.

A barn is a cozy place to be on a rainy day. I never minded cleaning stalls or moving bales of hay, sweeping the aisle or filling water buckets. On sunny days, I'd be itching to saddle up and go for a ride on the trails, or head up the road to the ring where I had my lessons.

But on rainy days, I'd linger. Read all the messages on the chalkboard, about who was going out of town, and which horses needed someone to exercise them. Straighten up the tack room. And on my week to feed, stuff hay into hay nets for each stall, and measure out grain and supplements for each horse. I'd check that the hanging blankets had dried overnight, and lay them out ready for the next day. Once the horses were in their stalls at the end of the day, I'd clean my stall, listening to the horses munch their hay, lick the last few grains of oats out of their feeders, and drink deeply from their water buckets.

I'd breathe deep, and inhale the wonderful, special aroma of horses.

Blooming in winter...

Two of my favorite flowers bloom in the Pacific Northwest winter :: Hellebores and primroses. Both seem to require that I lay down in the grass to get the best angle for a photograph. And on this cold and extremely wet day, that just wasn't happening. So I did the best I could. The flowers are happy with raindrops dripping off of them. I am not.

This primrose is already crowded by the perennials that are bursting out of the ground, now that we're heading toward the end of winter. It is my favorite color of primrose, and the only one that survives more than a couple of years. I buy other colors, and they seem to thrive at the farm. But they gradually die out, happily reseeding themselves into the native color of purple, with a yellow "eye." They've been blooming since Christmas, through snow and cold and wet.

In the valley...

Today we went exploring on some of our favorite back roads in the Snoqualmie Valley, reminiscing about cycling on the nearly deserted farm roads, and touring Carnation Farms as kids, when you got to watch them milk the cows, and the yummy ice cream bars we devoured at the end of the tour. We remembered the years when the Snoqualmie River flooded the valley, and when the only houses were the old farmhouses that were the heart of dairy farms and horse farms. When the valley wasn't threatened by the towns to the west, looking to expand. This valley is beautiful and serene, and it's one of my favorite places.

Carnation Farms still exists, but not as a dairy farm. After nearly 20 years in the hands of Nestle, the farm is once again owned by descendants of the original family. Today the 800+ acre property is a working farm and outdoor classroom, with summer camps and tours of their organic farm, and they host a farm-based education program for grades 5-12. The huge barns are still there on the side of the road, and they're still painted bright white, just like I remember from when I was a child.

New neighbors...

Each year in February, the herons return to the little heronry near my house. It's always a thrill to see them, and I love walking the nearby trail to watch them fly.

Soon the nests will be rebuilt and the eggs will be laid, and come spring, new herons will soar.

Buds...

With all the warm temperatures and rain, the orchard and perennial gardens are bursting into life. Winter isn't over... but nature is waking up anyway.

A line of trees...

The valley was heavy with mist, the grass green in anticipation of spring.  Ducks chatter on the ponds and river, and the sky is full of geese.

In the battle between winter and spring, spring appears to be winning. But I do not give up... I still hope for cold mornings and frost, and perhaps snow, before it's time to start gardening.

Resident eagle...

He stayed in the tree for the longest time, close enough to grab some photos as he surveyed the pasture beneath his feet. I don't often see eagles on my little farm, but this guy has been a fairly frequent visitor this year. He checked to the north, and to the south, back and forth for nearly a half hour.



Then something caught his attention, and just like that, he was gone.

A room with a view...

For the next four days, this is my window on the world. From an old convent-turned-retreat center, I and 11 of my quilting friends will be sewing all day long, as many hours as we want. We will be housed, and fed, and supplied with coffee and snacks.



And we have a gorgeous windowed room to sew in, with a view of Puget Sound, Vashon Island, the ships heading in and out of the Port of Tacoma, even the Talequah ferry.

We will talk, and laugh, and share stories and tips and techniques. And at the end, I will know these ladies even better, and hopefully finish up a few of my quilting projects.

Foggy...

Today we took a chilly early morning walk on the Enumclaw rail trail before breakfast at Charlie's. The Mountain didn't make an appearance, but we still had a payoff: this beautiful dairy barn, just beginning to show the light from the rising sun.

January barn...

Last week I ditched my Tuesday sewing group, and drove the back roads with my camera, looking for light, and clouds, and barns. On a country road at the north end of Maple Valley, I found this beautiful old dairy barn for my collection.



Linking up today on Tom's Barn Collective.