Tonight I took the dogs for a walk around the loop. I had not done this in some time. Best thing I did all day. The road is now ice free and the dirt surface is spongy underfoot. There are patches of snow here and there – the ground is visible but of course there is not yet any grass.

On the walk, around the hood – the people who live in the place we still call Tim’s cabin have moved the blue school bus off the road onto adjacent property. Nice place but now littered with cars.

The rabbits that were at Yvonne’s, on the upper road, were not there tonight, much to the dismay of both dogs.

There has been considerable activity down at the Rafter T place, and on my walk tonight this was verified. Some of the cars are gone – not all, but some. The drift boat is gone, as is the punching bag that hung from the tree. And someone is now occupying the little white shed adjacent to the plywood palace. They may be here until next winter when they discover that they can’t cut it. We have seen this happen repeatedly over the years over there.

Pete pointed out that the pussy willows to the side of the Black Hole Cabin are in bloom; he added that this is a little soon for the bees, who will be arriving after they’ve died out.

I keep looking for signs that Sastrugi is going to give birth. I don’t see any. I did cop a feel of her udder. It’s not bagging up. She seems heavier but no wider. Now we went through this with Stormy and it turned out she was not pregnant.

I may have been given a reprieve – I need to clean the goat pen environs before the big event. Tomorrow, I say, tomorrow.

Nearly all the siphoned water has drained out of the pen. The pen is looking good. The orphans, that is the individual manure balls, have been picked up. And the errant piles are now up behind the hoop house.

Tyra is again having loose poop. Could be or so I would like to think, that she’s been drinking water out of Raudi’s pond.

It’s going to be tricky, doing what I need to do here and also get books sorted and categorized at the hotel. This is an instance of the ongoing balancing act.

Spring, no it’s not here yet. It’s Sprinter. If, say, we further designated the seasons, this is what we’d call it. And it would be a clearly defined season.

And the season between fall and winter would be called finter.

Spring is now my favorite season because it is magical. The leaves appear on the trees, the robins and swallows return, the grass is green, and it’s then light until well into the evening.

I am going to have to give Pete an assist with the garden. I need to mention to him that we need to get starts going.

Lots to do on the home front. I must do it or otherwise spring will pass me by.

Next: 95. 4/6/25: Ignoring Pain