The air is sharp at 14 degrees, the frost biting against my cheeks, but the cold doesn’t deter me. This is more than a chore—this is love. Love for the land that rests beneath its frozen blanket, patiently awaiting the renewal of spring. Love for the chickens that stir with soft clucks, their bright eyes eager for my visit. I am drawn out here every morning, no matter the temperature, because the joy they bring me far outweighs the discomfort of the cold.

The fields are quiet now, resting as nature intended. They feel alive even in their stillness, as if holding their breath, waiting for my footsteps to cross their frost-kissed surface. Walking across this land fills me with peace. It is as though the land itself whispers gratitude, its resting energy humming beneath my boots, welcoming my presence.

The chickens wait, too. As I approach the coop, their chatter grows louder, their excitement unmistakable. I smile because this moment—this small, simple ritual of bringing them what they need—is a constant reminder of the love that flows between us. They rely on me, and I am happy to give them the care they deserve.

Water comes first. The trough is a delicate balance in these temperatures, the thin layer of ice breaking with a crack as I pour in warm water. Watching the steam rise, I feel a quiet satisfaction knowing their thirst will be met. They gather close, pecking at the water, their simple joy echoing back to me.

Next, the feed. Scattering it on the frozen ground feels almost ceremonial, a gesture of love and care. Their little feet scratch at the dirt, their feathers fluffed against the cold, and I marvel at their resilience. They don’t demand much—just food, water, and the assurance that I am here. And yet, they give so much in return: their quiet companionship, their trust, and the joy they bring into my life.

Even the land feels like it waits for me, holding its breath in this cold season. The fields may be bare, but they exude a quiet strength, reminding me that rest is as important as growth. Just as the chickens thrive on my care, the land thrives on its quiet renewal. My daily visits feel like a conversation, an exchange of love between myself, the animals, and the earth.

There’s something profound about this rhythm, this work that continues no matter the temperature. It’s not just about tending to needs—it’s about showing up with love. The love I pour into this land and these animals comes back to me tenfold, grounding me in ways I can’t fully explain.

Even on the coldest days, when my fingers ache and my breath clouds the air, I feel immense gratitude. Gratitude for the land that steadies me, for the chickens that bring life and joy to these winter mornings, and for the quiet bond that connects us all.

And yet, it’s not just duty that brings me outside on days like these—it’s love. Love for the land that rests yet feels alive under my boots. Love for the animals that trust me to meet their needs. Love for the stillness of winter that allows me to slow down and notice the subtle beauty of frost-crusted grasses, the patterns of ice in the water for our chickens.

This life is not easy, especially in the biting cold, but it is rich. Every step on these frozen fields reminds me why I do this—why I choose to walk out, day after day, no matter the temperature. The land, the animals, the rhythm of work and care—they all speak to a deep joy that no season, no temperature, no challenge can take away.