This is the strangest January, weatherwise, that I can remember. Even though temperatures are reaching forty and fifty degrees by early afternoon, the ice is as hard and widespread as it was before the thaw. The boss has put out more than half a ten-wheeler load of sand already, but it just washes away or sinks below the surface of the ice daily. There isn't a single one of us who hasn't fallen at least once and Alan is black and blue (he likes to run a lot, which is fairly typical of a teenaged boy I guess, however impractical in this season.)

I am real glad of the warm weather though, despite the ice, for a couple of reasons. One of them is, of course, saving firewood. Another is critter comfort. About three days ago one of my many hot air balloons of conceit was firmly pricked and completely deflated by, of all things, our rabbits. Farm Side readers may remember last summer, when Alan bought a couple of cute little bunnies, then was stung by yellow jackets while holding his. She got away and hid under a building. He spent quite some time catching every barn cat, possum and woodchuck within acres in his humane trap before he finally lured her out from under the old hen house. Well those two bunnies were sold at the auction as does. Since I used to run a rabbitry with as many as seventy-five rabbits at one point, I confidently checked to make sure the auction boys were right. And, yep, sure enough they were both does.

Which makes it hard to explain why Becky came in from rabbit chores the other night and said, "Mom, one of those rabbits has GOT to be a buck. There's a nest full of fluffy brown hair and it's moving."

I went out and looked and sure enough, there are baby bunnies out there. Red Baron is the mama and Snowy, who used to be a girl before he proved me wrong, the dad. I am hoping the thaw lasts long enough for the new arrivals to hair over and handle the winter weather. The kids are hoping to make a little of their investment back selling rabbits at the Easter auction market.