Feathered Trees

It’s been snowing off and on for about a week here in northern New Hampshire. Yesterday, the weather shifted gears and gave us a fine, freezing mist—despite the temperature clinging to the teens like a kid to their favorite blanket. That’s Mother Nature for you. Moody, mysterious, and occasionally show-offy.

This morning, I stepped outside and thought I’d wandered into a snow globe. The trees weren’t just dusted—they were feathered. Every branch wore a delicate layer of icy snow, giving the whole forest a soft, shimmering look, like someone had decorated it with white feathers.

Several trees looked exactly like they were made out of white pipe cleaners. I later found out that this magical phenomenon is called “hoar frost.” I’d never seen one before, and let me tell you—it’s one thing to read about it and another to see it turning your woods into a living snow globe.

Meanwhile, reactions on the farm were mixed.

Roxie and Jack, our English Shepherds, peeked out the door, took one whiff of the frosty air, and decided they were strictly “indoor philosophers” that morning. Jack gave it the old college try and promptly skidded across the yard like a curling stone. Roxie didn’t even pretend to consider it. She just gave me a look like, “You go ahead. I don't have to pee that bad.”

The goats didn’t care, from the dry safety of the barn, of course. As long as they could climb something and occasionally shout about it, all was well. And the sheep were just happy to have someone else to make them look like the calm ones. The chickens on the other hand, informed me long ago that they don't do snow.

But the Great Pyrenees? Oh, they were in their glory.

Those big, snow-loving guardian dogs who live with the sheep and goats had no interest in the barn. They could’ve been tucked in on fresh straw under a roof, but instead they were laying right out in the open, paws tucked under, heads held high, surveying their kingdom like frost-covered lions. This is their kind of weather. While the rest of us are trying to keep warm, the Pyrenees are celebrating. It’s their season to shine—literally and figuratively, thanks to all that white fur.

Farm life doesn’t stop when the world turns sparkly, but every now and then it lets you admire it in between chores. And today, with trees dressed in hoar frost, dogs lounging in the snow like it’s a spa day, and goats treating it like a jungle gym, I’m reminded that beauty doesn’t need to be practical to be worth noticing.