The storm must have come in while I was sleeping. I’d noticed a few flakes falling in the evening when I turned off the lights and went to bed. But the streets were still clear and the frozen, dead grass on my lawn was still visible.
Everything was different in the morning.
I got out of bed and walked to the window as I always do in the morning. I pulled back the curtain, and I was immediately blinded. It wasn’t the sunlight that temporarily stole my vision. It was the sunlight’s reflection off of almost a meter of fresh, untrodden snow. When my eyes adjusted, I saw it extending in an unbroken blanket as far as I could see.
There weren’t even any footprints from squirrels or small birds in the snow.
Everyone had decided to stay in the house today . . . even the animals. When I opened my laptop to check the outdoor temperature, I could see why: the high was projected to be –11º Celsius.
I took one more look outside to see what was waiting for me. The wind had picked up and I could see the snow being blown off my neighbor’s roof, falling to the ground like powdered sugar on a cake.
I grit my teeth, and then began putting on my work clothes so I could go care for my animals. Wool socks and long, thermal underwear made up the base layer. That was followed by a pair of sweats under a pair of jeans to cover my legs. My torso and arms were covered by a hoodie. Then I put on insulated coveralls to complete the ensemble, and my feet went into a pair of brand-new winter boots.
They squeaked just a bit as I walked out of the house.
My first stop was the rabbit hutch. When I pulled back the tarp on the shelter, undoing the bungee cords that kept them from being blown away in the wind, I was greeted by two rabbit ears sticking up out of a pile of straw.
Bella, my two-kilogram Californian rabbit poked her head up and blinked at me sleepily. Her dense fur along with plenty of straw ensured that the cold wouldn’t bother, and the tarps had done their job of protecting her from the wind.
I replaced her frozen water with the fresh, liquid kind. And I placed a pile of timothy hay next to her head. She didn’t bother to move from her sleeping spot, just moving her head slightly to the side so she could take a few bites of it.
Next, I went to the chicken coop.
My four hens were standing in a semi-circle looking confused. Chickens do well in the cold. An adult hen’s feathers will keep her warm even when the temperature falls below zero. But they need to be kept out of the wind and their bare feet are susceptible to frost bite.
For this reason, my girls had decided to stay in the coop instead of venturing out into the run like they would on a warmer day. They fussed at me as I changed their water, angry that I was intruding into their space. But they forgave me when I put out fresh crumbles for them to eat.
Their confusion gone, the hens scrambled to be the first to reach the food trough. I shut the door to the coop and let them figure it out between them.
When I entered the house, I was greeted by my two cats Enso and Henry. Their eyes were filled with fear and they chirped at me in concern. They’ve never gone without food, but each morning they worry that this will be the day they go hungry.
I put their fears to rest by opening two cans of wet cat food. I placed one in the basement for Henry and the other in the kitchen for Enso. Then I closed the door to the basement to ensure that Henry wouldn’t steal Enso’s food.
Henry is a good cat, but he can be a bit of a bully.
With the chores done, I started on my favorite part of the day: making tea. I filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to heat. As the water began to roll and boil within it, I looked outside at the snow.
The wind had picked up and I could see tiny whirlwinds of snow blowing across the yard. As I watched them, I was filled with gratitude that my animals and I had a warm home to protect us from the weather.
In Buddhism, we talk a lot about taking refuge. Namely, we take refuge in the Buddha by following his example, the Dharma by studying the teachings, and the Sangha by practicing with a community of friends.
It had never occurred to me until recently that taking refuge is an active process. It’s not enough to simply know about the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha; we have to seek them out. We must work to build a spiritual shelter around ourselves in the same way that a homesteader might build a rabbit hutch or a chicken coop.
This is because the world is a cold place and it doesn’t matter how tough we think we are—if we stay outside long enough, we’ll freeze. By learning to take refuge and actively seeking shelter from the spiritual snow storms that move in our directions, we’re able to find a way out of suffering.
Namu Amida Butsu
