As the week rolled into the weekend, it was apparent winter was well on its way to the 45th Parallel.
By Friday morning, life at Russ-Stick Acres was taking on a different look.
Our driveway, as we know it, is now defunct.
Impassable.
Even with the assistance of our tractor.
We don’t have a short drive … we have a journey.
That Friday night, at the start of the weekend, I was picked up on my return home from work by several friends – Ranger, Astro, Solo, Charlie, Jeff and Rustic Russ.
Dog team. And driver.
I had stopped at the store earlier in the day and loaded up on some staples.
Upon parking at the end of the drive by the road, we transferred all the groceries, my camera, and essentials into the sled bag to haul to the cabin. We did this in the dark, bitter cold, blowing snow.
I then stood on the runners, shared by Rustic Russ, and experienced a frosty, cold drive through drifts back to the warmth of the woodstove in our main cabin – Rustic Russ, sometimes running along the sled, assisting the dogs through deep drifts.
It was good to be home.
A roast from our own steer, braised to perfection, was poised for consumption. The aroma filled the air like Yorkshire pudding.
Warm, safe and sound.
The dogs were more than happy to oblige. They love to feel like a part of our working farm.
Home via dog sled.
The most reliable transportation on earth.
Until next time – God willing,
Woodswoman
