The earliest was January 20, 1989, as I recall after watching the inauguration of President George H. W. Bush on television going outside to find the mass of yellow flowers. This year they began blooming January 9, eclipsing the old record by 11 days.

Despite the mildness of the winter thus far, our chickens decided to stop laying eggs two weeks ago, necessitating the first egg purchases in over six months. I wonder if our friends at Tri-Star have noticed the increase in revenue? The lone banty hen, a Silky, stopped in early December, and now has been followed by the dozen Dominikers. Perhaps the glut of roosters has caused the girls to lose interest, or could they be unhappy in the luxurious new coup that we built last year?

I use the term “luxurious” without qualification, although I have seen it used in other contexts that definitely were not befitting of the word, specifically rental properties that exuded barebones, builder-grade, construction. In the case of our chickens, they have an enclosed, large, play or exercise area, safe from predators, a variety of roosting places, new dining facilities and an enclosed nesting area. Despite the latter, they had chosen to lay their eggs in one spot on the ground, protected by the feed bin.

Another winter oddity this year has been the early disappearance of the dead leaves from the large red oak tree in the back yard. In a normal season it holds the wilted, brown leaves until March, but this winter almost all had fallen by the first of the year. Their disappearance so early seems strange given the absence of the major winds that we have experienced each year.

The mildness of the winter has encouraged honeysuckle growth, albeit quite minimal, but our goats have enjoyed every mouthful. This year our fields are in wheat, perhaps an unfortunate stimulant to the goats’ appetites, given that all they can do is look at the vast green carpet without getting a single bite of it.

The ground is particularly soft, affording the voles and moles easy underground passage, that is, until they meet Fluffy, our superb mouser. She is one of the finest feline detectors of unwanted vermin that I ever have known, and like all great professionals she takes righteous pride in her work.

After patiently waiting by the opening she has exposed in a mole trail, she pounces, nabs the victim, dispatches it, and then brings the fruits of her labors to the kitchen door for us to thank and compliment her. Her male companion, Citrus, is inclined more to prefer packaged and prepared foods. As far as cats go, he is basically a pacifist.

Maggie, the Welsh Corgi puppy born during the royal wedding last April, has a wonderful personality, but has proven difficult to train. Perhaps having been a singleton, she did not learn the laws of nature, and quite honestly, is spoiled. Commands mean less to her than to her ever-obedient mother, and she has become accustomed to being served. The winter has left her unfazed, and unaware of what snow, one of her mother’s favorite experiences, truly is.

Winter is a time of retrenchment and new beginnings. The daffodils’ early, I do not say premature, arrival signal that it cannot be that bad, and today as the groundhog searches for his shadow, we can be grateful that the snow shovels have remained in the tool sheds, the plows in the garages, the power lines unhampered, and, most significantly, that the blossoming of spring is not far away.