I hate hard, fierce wind. It unsettles me … jangles my nerves.

For two days now we’ve had hellacious winds and bone-rattling temperatures, even by New Mexico standards. Look out, everybody East of me: watch your bets; hell-frozen-over is on its way! Today the early morning wind blew my close-fitting cap off and sent it rolling across the ground like a tumbleweed. Since I had both hands full of animal-feeding bowls I couldn’t grab the cap before it went AWOL. After I rescued it I had to cram it on down over my ears to keep it on my head. Gave the chickens a laugh–until the gusts nearly took their feathers off!

All my large animals hudled inside the donkey barn where I shut the big north door the night before to keep out the brutal northwest wind. Goats and donkeys and the two “ghetto chickens” were safe and dry inside when I went in this morning. But all my animals are skiddish and jumpy when the wind howls. They looked at me this morning as if to ask, “What foul deed brought this torment on?” I mumbled something … not out of a prayer book.

I know on the 21st of December we mark the first day of winter. But actually it’s the end. It is the beginning of winter’s death. At least, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. From that day on days grow longer and get warmer and sunnier. It’s something to look forward to.

Meantime, at least a portion of the roaring you hear coming out of New Mexico will be me, calling the demonic wind every name I can think of. I know it’s childish. Don’t scold. It’s my therapy while I super glue my chickens’ feathers back on!

Joseph Harvill, publisher Great Scots Magazine