If January is a seed containing the full articulation of the year, the forthcoming story has been frozen solid around here. Blanketed in a perma-snow since December, we’ve scant seen the earth all month. Temperatures colder than we’ve known in years have tempered our progress on planned forestry work and infrastructure projects, and so we’ve been banging about the interior quite a bit. In the farm office, in the barns, in the house, in the recesses of our subconscious; the idea of a year has been taking shape. All we can plan for, all we can imagine, in the shape of a frozen seed.