More Sabine Snow

There is a lot of snow here at the Sabine Farm right now.

It is getting pretty deep in places, especially for the hungry birds.


Sabine Snow Removal requires more than a shovel. 


The chickadees don’t seem overly put off by all the noise and activity, however.


About Fr. John Zuhlsdorf

Fr. Z is the guy who runs this blog. o{]:¬)
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  1. Greg Hessel in Arlington Diocese says:

    I love your farm.

  2. MSusa says:

    Hey father isn’t that beautiful!!!!

    We got snow for about 3 hours one day and that is it for the winter season!!
    We sure did enjoy it.
    It looks beautiful.

  3. Greg: It is simply called “the Sabine Farm” in tribute to the ancient Roman poet Horace.

  4. Greg Hessel in Arlington Diocese says:

    Fr Z,

    How much acreage do you have?

  5. Ray from MN says:


    Asking a farmer “How much acreage do you have?”, while of great interest to urban types, would be the equivalent of asking your city neighbor, “How much money do you have in the bank?”


    How come a John Deere? Toro is made in Minnesota!

  6. Greg Hessel in Arlington Diocese says:


    Give me a break.

  7. RBrown says:

    Has Al Gore seen these pictures of snow?

  8. Melody says:

    Ever find yourself talking to the birds like St. Francis?

  9. Lynne says:

    Father Z,

    Forget the millet blend for your birds and feed them black oil sunflower seeds. They\’ll thank you for it. The Sabine Farm is lovely.

  10. malta says:

    God’s Grandeur

    Gerard Manley Hopkins (Jesuit Poet, 1918):

    THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
    It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
    It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
    Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
    Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
    And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
    And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
    Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

    And for all this, nature is never spent;
    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
    And though the last lights off the black West went
    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
    Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.


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