A beautiful, sad day on the farm

Winter's grip -- weak as it was in the first place -- is slipping away on the farm. This last Sunday in February emerged from an overnight storm as bright and clear as any you would want. Temperatures had migrated to the 60s. (Talk about illegal immigration; it's still February!)

The wind blew constantly, hard at times. but that just made the air even more clear, the sky bluer and the contrasts of lights and shadows stronger.

So, of course, I took pictures (right).

You can see the whole album here.

I worked some more on building beehives. I dropped by Howard Kerr's yesterday and got some more material to assemble, and I put together another hive box and 10 frames. The weather was warm enough that I got to work outside on the back deck rather than in the kitchen. With four of the six hive boxes and frames built, I am two-thirds of the way toward having my two hives.

The sad part of the day comes with thinking about Dolly, the blind cat on the farm that was referred to a couple of postings ago. We haven't seen Dolly since Friday morning when my sister-in-law Jane came over to feed her. It is quite unlike Dolly to be gone this long, and we are convinced that something has happened to her and that we are unlikely to see her again.

I admired Dolly because of her ability to get around the farm and in and out of the house without the benefit of sight. Dolly would always accompany me on my blackberry forages in July, weaving herself in and out of the undergrowth just as if she could see as well as any cat. Despite losing her sight, Dolly had met life as it came to her. She adapted to difficult situations like a champ. I had looked forward to having her around this summer, and I will miss her greatly.