It’s cold in Texas.
Not Minnesota-dead-of-winter cold, but feels-like-20-DURING-THE-DAY-cold. In Texas. That’s basically the key to understanding how monumental this is.
It’s Texas.
I’m sitting in our RV with two pairs of socks on, a scarf, a cardigan and a sweatshirt. I eyed the beanie. It’s a crisp 64 degrees in here, though we’ve just gained another degree after I boiled water for tea. hashtag: stoveburnerequalsheat. The electric heaters are cranked.
(this message interrupted because my dog was mouthing a screw. “You can’t chew on random hardware you find.”)
It’s maybe more common to RV fulltime during, oh, I don’t know, summer months, but where’s the adventure in common? Where’s the thrill of frozen water pipes and a bum furnace when it’s 80 degrees outside?
With all that said, I’ll admit that knowing it’s going to climb back into the 70s (WHERE YOU BELONG, TEXAS WEATHER) in a matter of days makes the *ahem* adventure tolerable.
But my cold feet and layers remind me of a long time ago and a few Minnesota winters we spent in our Fleetwood travel trailer when warmer days were a tantalizing mirage and the hope of them wore thin as the snowstorms, blizzards and ice pounded on. I remember full frozen septic tanks, cups of hot chocolate and sledding in cardboard boxes, though the allure of the latter diminished after Day 3 of Epic Snow. Re-warming up in 28 feet of space with eight other people and a dog was just too much work. We’d sometimes turn on the oven and crack it open to help the furnace out.
Thankfully it’s just cold in Texas and we don’t have to deal with windshield scraping or driveway shoveling.
I checked on the chickens and they’re snug as three bugs in a rug.
Checking on three chickens in 29-feels-like-20 degrees is much different (better?) than my yesteryears as a cattle ranch chick when the greatest New Mexico blizzard of all time forced us to implement snowmobiles and a sled to feed cattle. We were riding over the tops of fences and I became so encased in ice (snow melted by my body heat and re-frozen immediately) that I kept sliding off the back of the snowmobile seat while my brother drove. I legitamately thought I would die by mountain lion. BECAUSE #1) we had mountain lions on the ranch, and #2) they were hungry!
I survived.
The chicken’s water was frozen, so I gave them a hand. I could tell they were grateful.
And I fed them.
And then I discovered the water hose did not freeze, so I filled a jug for the dogs.
I remember being a kid and one my “chores” was putting away the hoses in the winter time. My dad was extremely particular about the way you did this. You always stretched the hose and blew all the water out. (DO NOT BLOW TOO HARD. You might get water in your face). Then you wound it up in a tight circle. No kinks, please. If it didn’t lay flat, you need to re-roll it. He was always very careful, too, about the way he picked it up. I realize now he did all that to make sure it’d fit in its compartment under the trailer. Everything had to fit.
We’ve come to the end.
It’s 67.4 degrees in here (I boiled more water), my feet are getting colder (this isn’t right!) and I’ve got to go prep the chicken’s night-time space. Supposed to be 19 tonight.
In Texas.
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