By Harold Brummett

Denmark Star Route

The combination of ice, freezing temperatures topped off with a generous dowsing and teasing moderate temperatures has made traveling anywhere but paved road an adventure.  

It is like being at the end of the road everywhere, not just at the end of Old Sardis Road where it runs into the lake.

In a matter of weeks, I have transitioned from walking shoes to low-topped muckers, and now gear up for a trip to the chicken house in rubber knee boots. 

The observation is not a complaint, particularly after the summer’s drought.  Complaint would do no good and might upset the Deity who could bless us with more wet weather while keeping under the 40-day and night maximum promised in Genesis. 

The guineas have made the barn their headquarters. They bivouac in the rafters at night and spent the rainy days bored in the dry of the barn only venturing out for grain and grazing. This has made picking up the residue of both horse and fowl a continual effort. 

If there was any doubt how Noah and his family spent their days on the Ark the answer was revealed to me this last week. 

The Little Kettle Creek that borders one side of the property has gone from a slow plodding stream to a wanna be river. The Little Kettle is flowing as if it has important business in the South with the Yocona River.  The Little Kettle starts to cut under where not secured by trees or good sod and will eventually slough off.  

I wonder about the animals that have gone to higher ground – having recently seen terrapins on the hillside. A lone daffodil appeared in the cold to warm days to make the promise of spring seem close. 

The slightly warmer weather has provided impetus for hibernating creatures to stir and move. Frogs occasionally sing at night, impatient to be about their business. 

The single daffodil who bloomed the day before bows low with rain, ice and cold. It is winter again. Frogs who sang earlier in the week dive deep into the mud and resume their sleep. 

Terrapins go where they go when it is cold. 

The cold in Mississippi is damp and runs up your sleeve and down the back of your collar. Dress in layers they say, but the Mississippi damp cold is different from the dry cold of the north and not turned away so easily. 

There is nothing to do but look at seed catalogs, wonder if Mr. Reeder has seed potatoes yet, and place a bet on when the last winter day will be.