Maybe it’s just me, but weather terminology seems way more dramatic than it used to. It’s true that my lifestyle means I spend a lot more of my time trying to decode and prepare for whatever is meteorologically in store, but I’m pretty sure I hadn’t heard about atmospheric rivers and the such until relatively recently. Having said that, when all talk turned to an expected Polar Blast (I watched it’s animated anticipated arrival and path – straight from the South Pole to our paddocks) we took it seriously.

Lamb tails remained undocked to ensure the recent arrivals were at full strength, double rations were dotted around the paddock dry corners, the goats got a bit of a foot trim pampering and fluffed up bedding, and our youngest flock members and their Mums (despite the latters outrage) remained in the sheltered barnyard for another night.

It was just as well. Arriving with a vengeance in the early hours of Sunday, it was all it promised; bitterly cold and wet but without the excitement of settling snow. In the midst of it all, it became apparent one of our flock, Clover, was not in a good way. We moved her to a cosy corner of the pig pen and, over the course of the gloriously sunny but bitterly cold week , tried all the potions, tricks and bedside sheepy voodoo in our arsenal but nothing made a jot of difference. On Thursday we, with the vets blessing, faced the inevitable and had her euthanised.

Earlier in the week, while my head and heart were chock full of Clover’s plight, the Homestead received a visit from the esteemed Auntie Joss and, a tad discombobulated, I commented that our chosen lifestyle is glorious when all is well. I know the same could be said for any lifestyle, but before we started doing this homesteading thing I had never before experienced these extremes of utter heart-bursting joy or horrendous, desperate, guilt-ridden despair. Because, whatever and however, there’s always guilt when one of the menagerie dies.

But life, it just keeps moving.

Snow makes our backyard look very pretty and two of our number finally got their ski day while Eleanor waited until the sun was once again shining to deliver her two, sturdy boys.

It’s been a week of extremes.

~ Southern Alps from Darfield photo courtesy of Fi Maddison