oloriel | Grizzlies in their backyard

Well, not quite. (But Grizzlies in their Backyard was the title of a book I never read, but remember nonetheless; go figure.) There are no grizzlies in Germany (in the wild, I mean), and the last bears disappeared from the Bergian 500 or so years ago (except for 'náro, whom I occasionally call mouse-bear).
We do have deer, though.

The frost still hasn't broken; although temperatures have occasionally risen to just above 0°C, it's never been warm enough for the ground to actually unfreeze (beyond the upmost layer, in the sun). This for more than one and a half months. This is the longest cold streak I've ever experienced. The good part is that it's too cold for rain, so the weather in the past days has mostly been wonderfully golden, and you keep thinking spring is in the air until you leave the sun and get hit by the cold.
At any rate, the ground is frozen, and the deer have by now used up their above-ground food sources - acorns, chestnuts, fir-shots and the like - in the forest. Last week I got quite a shock while taking the kitchen waste out, because suddenly as I came closer to the compost-heap something large, lithe and brown jumped out of the heap and away into the forest; apparently the deer had discovered the apple cores, onion skins, carrot and potato peel etc. as an additional food source.

And...

Yesterday, Jörg had to work, and Jörg's mother had an invitation to some trade fair, so I was on my own. I'd planned to use the day for slow but necessary stuff - tidying my room (...), grocery shopping, finally getting that bloody cholera vaccination, and perhaps some preliminary research for the term paper.
Except the phone rang just after I'd had breakfast. The caller was our neighbour.
"The deer have come into my firs", he said. (He has a small piece of land, adjacent to our pigsty, on which he grows firs for Christmas trees.) "I keep finding deer shit all over the place, and they've eaten all the soft fir shots. I think I should put up the fence again."
"Sounds like it," says I, although I secretly doubt that a fence that goes to (roughly) my hip will stop deer that have already proven to be capable of jumping over higher obstacles.
"Problem is," says he, "that the fence is buried under your excavated earth from the drainage. I've already tried, but it won't come out easily. Can you shift the earth so I can use the fence?"
"Sure thing," says I, completely forgetting about the almost-two-months frost.

The earth and stones sit there, ice rims glittering innocently in the sunlight. I put aside the shovel, which obviously won't help me yet, and get a pickaxe instead.

Three hours later, the fence is still not excavated. Neighbour returns home and sees me working there, and apologises profusely for my time and effort. "Eh, it's our own fault," I say, "and if things had gone as planned, we'd long since have finished this work, and the fence would be free anyway." He keeps apologising; better, he and some lad (his son? nephew? I have no idea) help digging and pulling. I've unearthed a good part of the fence already, and the sun has been shining on the earth for three hours; three of us working, we manage to get the fence free within another hour.

I go back inside, put on dry clothing (even at 1°C in the sun, working with a pickaxe on frozen ground will get you sweaty). The phone rings again. This time it's the hubby.

"The want to throw out the plywood boards they used for protecting the floor," he declares. "Today's our last chance to save them." (We can use plywood boards, which are ridiculously expensive if you buy them, to protect our floor, or to make shields for the Roman or medieval army the jûdô kids turn into during summer camp.) "They're too large for my trunk, and it'll take hours to cut them to size, but H. and S. have offered to come over with their trailer. They don't know the way, though, so could you drive with them?"
I tell him in no uncertain terms how little I think of that idea. But of course I can hardly let H. and S. drive (who don't profit from this at all) while I (who do profit from it a little, in that it spares our household budget) stay at home, so, another half-hour later, H. picks me up (since I come along, S. justly says she won't be needed to read the map, so she can as well look after the kids instead of leaving them in front of the tv). H. tends to suffer from chronic logorrhea, and with the trailer he has to drive slowly, so the ride takes rather too long.
We load the trailer, put the company's store room back in order, H. and I drive back home. Jörg says he doesn't know when he'll be back home - might be 7, might be 8. (pm, obviously.)
I remind him that we're invited at 7 (Friday was my father's birthday), and since he (Jörg) complained that my father wanted to celebrate on Friday because Jörg definitely wouldn't be able to attend on Friday, it would be rather stupid if he suddenly turned out not to be able to show up on Saturday either, seeing how my parents changed their plans especially for him.
"Work has priority," he says. I am... annoyed.

H. has another appointment at half past four; we arrive back home at half past five, so he leaves the trailer, loaded, in our barn. I hurry back inside, feed the cats, get the grocery list, go shopping. Am shortly amused by the enormous queue at the lottery booth (this Saturday's jackpot was 35 Million €; for some reason people seem to believe that the higher the prize, the higher their chance to win it). Am not so amused by my hip, which begins to complain of the day's work. I am growing old, alas.

Back home, Jörg has spoken on the ansaphone: He's left work at quarter past six, so he'll be here on time. Good for him.

We celebrate my father's birthday at a quaint little restaurant in my hometown. Food is great, talk is mostly bearable (of course there's the unavoidable "Why is

fuchs done with her studies when you are not?" Because she's already taken the exams, and I haven't? *rolls eyes* - "Do you know what to do after your studies? WELL WHY DIDN'T YOU APPLY ALREADY?" Because I haven't finished my studies yet, and that's among the job requirements? *rolls eyes* - "Why did you not get the cholera vaccination already?" BECAUSE I SPENT ALL DAY PICKAXING AT FROZEN MUD, AND LOADING PLYWOOD BOARDS INTO A TRAILER, AND MAKING SURE NEITHER WE NOR THE KITTENS STARVE ON SUNDAY?!). Eh well.

Today we unload the trailer, and perhaps I manage to do some preliminary research, or tidy up my room. If we're especially lucky we'll manage to take a walk. Won't be able to go to the pharmacy because it's Sunday, and the emergency pharmacy service is probably not meant for cholera vaccinations you ~~probably don't need at all~~ don't desperately need before the week is through.

The best-laid plans of mice and men...