These are photographs from the snow storm that hit on March 14th. We got about 2.5 to 3 feet of snow, but the snow drifts were up to Carl’s chest. We were snowed in for the first time in our 30+ years of marriage. Even Carl admitted defeat.

Our new batteries arrived in the Solar Pack truck. The intention was to have our tractor unload and take them down to the basement. That didn’t work. One battery is 450 pounds. Our tractor is about 450 pounds. We called our neighbors.

I’m remembering January 2018. I had broken my arm that Thanksgiving. My mother, still alive if with Parkinson's, was visiting. It was a New Year and I got up to write, to draw in the dark of that day’s dawning. I built up the fire in the wood stove because the temperature outside was in the negative numbers. And the chickens at the time were inside the house. Then the fire alarms went off.

Here we are at Darwin’s View! How fabulous and bracing when the electricity in half of the house turns off, usually during a Zoom business meeting or cocktail hour. Our salt water batteries aren’t as robust as they used to be. Only five years old, this winter has exposed their weakness: an inability to deal with power surges.

I lost confidence in the Dodge three years ago, when the brakes became mere suggestions. But Carl—ever faithful, ever hopeful—stuck by the truck, defending it. “It works!” As if it were a dependable phenom, a version of Hercules holding up the world, not a miracle of jerry-rigged wires and duct tape. But Carl exhibited hints of disloyalty when he would furtively put down his name on the waiting list for a Tesla Cybertruck, a Canoo, a F-150 Ford Lightning, a Rivian, an Alpha Truck. He was on the hunt for a 4-wheel drive electric truck. The question being, would any of them be released before the truck breathed its last?

As the dawn dawns, I take a photo of six deer grazing. They have on their heavy winter coats. The next time I look up from my writing desk, I note the skies have lightened the clouds to steel blue grays… and a bobcat is trotting away.

December, month of the shortest day of the year. I love its darkness. It speaks to my need to go inward. Summers are stressful; I get pulled in too many directions by too many shoulds. I should be outside in the garden. I should be in the study. I should be weeding and seeding. I should be reading and mulling. I should visit the chickens.

Meet the chickens of Darwin’s View, including Apricot, the Pullets, Bernadette-Go-Bernie, Snowball, Fogbank, and more. The older hens are disheveled and pale, having all gone through a heavy molt this fall. But the Pullets—defined as under-one-year-old girls—have matured to the point they will consider laying their first eggs. After a month of no eggs, we are now getting 3-4 a day. From nineteen hens…

This is “Darwin’s View”! From north of Mount Monadnock to Mount Monadnock herself and onward south to Massachusetts mountain range and then east to WaPack and NorthPac. Quite glorious in any season and on any given day—but fall, with its brilliant colors that tickle the eyes, is my favorite.

This past July, I made an audiobook of my memoir At Crossroads with Chickens, A “What If It Works” Adventure in Off-Grid Living and Quest for Home. I enjoyed the process of reading it aloud, revisiting what brought Carl and me to this point. And, to my surprise, At Crossroads with Chickens is not as humorous a book as I remembered it. In fact, I found it rather sad. Maybe because I am on this side of that crossroads and know what has happened since.