A Winter Tale

I was probably seven years old. We lived in a farm house that my folks rented. While we used the home and the yard, the farm around us operated by Ed Hynek and his family. We were used to having livestock on the property. Dad used the old chicken coop to raise his own goats, and we had a dog. Otherwise, the rest of the livestock was owned and taken care of by the landlord.
On a night after another storm had ripped through, dropping a foot of snow and temperatures down to the zeros, we all stayed in the warm little house together watching movies.
Then the landlord called. He'd asked my dad if he could take care of the animals, since he was snowed in behind drifts.
Mom had kept us inside all through the storm and the next day, saying it was too cold to go out. But now, Dad had said we could go help feed the cows with him. We bundled up in everything we had--extra pants, socks and shirts. Then snow boots, snow pants, thickest coats, mittens and hats. A hood on top of that. And a scarf to tie it all down.
A lot of the details have faded in my memory, but I'll always remember how still and quiet it was. And the stars were out in the black sky, and there was nothing to see or hear in that stillness but snow. It crunched under our feet while we tromped to the barn.
And then the welcoming scent of animals, and the windbreak of the giant white barn. There were two or three barns on the property but we weren't ever allowed to go inside of them. This was the cow barn. Today we climbed up the ladder to the hay loft, and Dad hoisted a couple of hay bails down to the cows below.
I don't know why I remember it so much. Just how cool it was that we were even outside, with negative thirty temps was amazing enough. And then I got to see my dad be something he normally wasn't. It's cool when someone has these hidden talents and smarts that most of the world doesn't get to know about. Mom told me that Ed liked having us live at the house because Dad knew how to handle animals.
Something about these winter storms and the still cold nights that follow always remind me of that first one I remember, bundled up from head to toe, face against the wind, headed to the white barn with my dad and brother. It makes me warm inside, even while I shiver.