The last of the light.

Photo copyright Aji, 2022; all rights reserved.

That was last night: the last of the light, before the real cold descended with the dark. And believe me, it was cold. That's the way it is here, though; almost invariably, every snowstorm gets followed immediately by the deep freeze, and the only question becomes how long it's going to last. This time, not long in. the daylight hours, but we're projected to get single digits overnight for a week or more (which means, for us right here, low actually at or below zero, and wind chills well below).

The elk showed up last night, too. They arrived just before midnight, made themselves at home, and didn't start heading back for heavier cover from human sight until just before dawn, a little before six. Wings has already scattered old hay for them in hopes of keeping them out of Miika's bales . . . and Cricket has already bogarted the first pile of hay as his, to give him a soft place to lie in the sun.

And still, Wings has no useable acetylene torch, and I'm about to lose my mind. We have orders with deadlines, and it is absolutely inconceivable to me that there are no established services in this town to do it anymore. It looks like he's found one guy, but it has to wait until tomorrow. So one more day unable to work.

And in spite of all of that, I still have to maintain an all-out effort to bring in more income. Well, in spite of that AND in spite of the fact that both wrists subluxed last night and my right (dominant) hand is barely useable, on top of new msucle and tendon contractures in both hips, my hamstrings, and my Achilles, and the recurrence of the lymph symptoms that last year cost us five figures, CASH, for the testing to rule out (hopefully, but not definitively, even then, never mind now, a year and a half later) an especially virulent form of breast cancer. To say I'm demoralized doesn't even begin to cover it. It's hard to work in constant, unrelenting pain, even aside from all the rest.

I will be doing nothing but pushing sales for at least the next five weeks. But I need to make this happen sooner rather than later, because the tax burden won't wait, and there's too much else that needs doing, even as my illness leaves me with less function by the day now. It's everything, from pain to balance to ability to walk properly to ability to use my hands properly, and the damage is increasing even as I'm running out of time to do it all. And Twitter's incipient destruction is going to deprive us of our biggest sales audience, and that means I'm going to be putting in twelve-hour days after the holidays trying to set up alternatives that won't have the effectiveness or the reach, and I am so depressed by it all by now that there aren't words. Which means I need help to get everything covered. We. Need. Sales.

All the links are here; please, share them, too (and there's a new wishlist priority, the automatic composter, which will do wonders for saving on waste and allow Wings to compost the land and trees regularly even through the winter; my physical function is impaired enough now that things can only get done if I have the help of equipment like this):

• Sales here; 
• Testimonials here; 
• Amazon wishlist here (priorities are, first and foremost, the automatic composter and the wheelbarrow, then the other ladder);
• Patreon here;
• Ko-fi here.

We're still hoping to put aside enough for a new well when the ground thaws enough to drill in the spring, too, Nah, we've given up on the well. No one's available to drill before late next year at the earliest, and this year's tax burden means we would never be able to afford it anyway. But it's even more of a good time to make a purchase, because Uncle Sam is a vindictive colonizer, and my current stress levels about paying it all are off the charts. And there's lots of fabulous work, so please share all of the links. 

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2022; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.