Greetings, Rural Sprout readers,Â
We’ve had a couple more frosts here in the middle of Pennsylvania, and I’ve been enjoying watching the steam roll off the grass when the sun hits it in the morning. It’s been chilly enough in the evenings that I had my first fire in the fireplace this
year.Â
The kittens weren’t sure of this noisy, popping, crackling thing at first.Â
 I explained to them that fireplaces are a cat’s best friend. They were made for cats to lie in front of and soak up the heat. Every cozy painting of a fireplace has a cat nearby. By the second evening, they decided maybe this fire
thing wasn’t so bad and curled up nearby, toasty warm. Â
It reminded me of Mr. Bibs.Â
We’ve got quite a few new readers this year, so for those new here, my dad was an off-the-grid homesteader who built his own log cabin. As a child of divorced parents, I spent my weekdays in a normal household and my weekends living off the grid with
Dad.Â
Mr. Bibs was a tuxedo tabby that Dad and I had when I was a kid.
This cat took the whole fireplace thing to heart. My dad made this grand little cast iron wood stove with a flat top that you could cook pancakes on. It was right in the middle of the open-plan first floor. And this thing really cranked out heat. We
would sit in the evenings with the windows open a crack in the middle of January.Â
Well, good ol’ Mr. Bibs had a habit of lying directly beneath the wood stove and taking long naps there, luxuriating in the warmth.Â
You could tell if it was wood-heating season in our cabin by petting the cat. The fur along his back was always stubbly and singed from brushing against the bottom of the wood stove. When the cold weather abated in the spring, and Dad finally let the
fire go out, Mr. Bibs’ fur would grow back, sleek and shiny as usual.Â
He was something, that cat.Â
This is also the same pet that went out and caught a wild rabbit as big as he was and brought it into the cabin in the middle of the night when Dad let him in. The trouble was, the rabbit was still alive! That was a memorable evening—a wild-eyed cat
racing around the cabin, trying to catch his prey again. Dad swearing at the cat and trying to dig a frightened rabbit out from under his bed and me upstairs, hiding under the covers in my bed, and yelling to let me know when it was all over.Â
Dad took up the habit of opening the door a crack first and shining a flashlight down at Mr. Bibs before letting him in the cabin after dark after the rabbit incident. Â
As you may have guessed, it’s the time of year when the newsletter drifts slightly off-topic from gardening. I usually share memories or seasonal insights like this during the off-season, as we all take a break while the soil rests. I hope you
enjoy!
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Did you miss a newsletter or want to read a few for inspiration? Find past newsletters here. Don't forget to check out our Facebook page for daily updates.Â
That's all for this week, Rural Sprout Readers.
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