With four to eight inches of snow forecast, schools around here have declared a day off. Three hours into the school day, there is no actual snow. But Junior does have boots, so we're ready—after an emergency snow-boot run this morning. (Memo to me: do not give away boots without replacing them immediately.) I wish I could interest him in reading Katherine Kirkpatrick's Snow Baby, a biography of Arctic explorer Robert Peary's daughter, Marie, but with a new (to him) pair of skis to try out, he wants to head to the backyard slalom course.
I don't know what the chickens will make of the snow. Yesterday they free-ranged right into the neighbor's yard, where Zeno crowed for a while at the top of his lungs. I summoned them back home with a piece of their favorite delicacy, cheese. To see chickens come running when you call is too funny. Last week the now very large Zeno flew onto the top of my head when I was sitting down and handing out snacks; since then, I throw the pieces from some distance away. Nothing like a spoiled rooster to make you re-think your feeding strategies.
Happy snow day from all of us here at the coop.