Winter was to be the down time at the Boulder Creek Ranch.

Through fall, I prided myself on getting ready. Scotta and I stocked the barn with tons of hay for the horses. My favored work gloves wore out from all the wood splitting. The irrigation dams were pulled, the fire truck tarped up, and the creek cleared of log jams.

My plan was to while away winter next to the woodstove, toes warming as I dreamed up projects for spring. What a fantasy.

Once the temperature dropped and the snow started flying, I was running double-time at our place on the Middle Fork. This wasn’t in the Chamber of Commerce brochure about life in Grant County.

When the pastures turned brown, feeding horses became a morning and evening ritual. In the summer, a stroll to the barn meant opening the front door and sauntering along.

Not in winter. Getting out the door becomes work. Depending on weather, I tussle my way into several layers of clothes. I look around the mud room to find boots best suited for what I’m about to face. Then it’s the hunt for the right hat and gloves. It’s like arming up against the day’s villain – wind, rain, driving snow. As I tug on this ensemble, the three dogs yap anxiously to get out. What for, I don’t know, because they never volunteer to help.

We trudge down to the barn, yank out some hay and scatter it for Shilo and the others. Then there’s the water trough. As the ponds froze over, the trough took on more importance.

Unlike the ponds, the trough doesn’t fill itself. Oh, I know it could. But I realized too late in the season that we needed to install a water line so we could leave the trough alone. At least I got a trough heater in place, but a heater needs something to heat.

That means every few days I have to lay hose from the bunkhouse over to the barn and into the horse shelter, trudge back to the hose bib, and let it flow. But then the hose has to be stowed. That means trudging from the shelter back to the bunkhouse, turning off the water, and then rolling up the hoses. Otherwise, they’d freeze solid and be useless. Then the horses would have to drink out of the toilet in the bunkhouse.

But that’s not the end of the winter horse chores. We learned that horses get a lot less active in the winter. They don’t wander too far from feed or shelter.

That means they lose their utility as self-propelled manure spreaders. So shoveling got added to the list of unexpected chores.

What surprised me is how productive horses can be on the back end. First, I started just a small pile of meadow muffins. Then I went to filling a small ATV trailer and dumping it later. Now, I’m using the tractor to build Mount Manure out in the pasture. That’s not a problem when everything’s frozen, but I can see a huge and unpleasant chore coming after the thaw.

And remember all that firewood? It doesn’t move itself into the house. Although I’m not sitting by it much, the woodstove has to be supplied to keep the dogs and cats warm. I now understand why pioneer families had a dozen kids.

Hauling the wood isn’t so bad, but it’s the kindling that’s got me puzzled. I swear, I can chop up a big pile of kindling and think I’ve got that chore licked for four or five days. But two days later, I’m back out at the wood pile, splitting the small stuff. I’ve become pretty stingy about how much I use to get a fire going.

When it’s chopping time, Riley, our black Lab, turns into a wood thief. Soon as I start swinging the ax, Riley’s there, ears perked, tongue hanging happily from his face. As wood pieces fall to the ground, he darts in, grabs one, and takes off. When I don’t give chase, Riley drops the stick, wheels back to my work station, and grabs another.

Cute once or twice, but then it becomes tempting to re-aim the ax. Worse still is that he taught this trick to the other dogs, Roxie and Taz. And competitiveness enters the scene. Roxie has become adept at grabbing three or four pieces at once before racing just out of hand’s reach.

The three dogs are helpful, too, when it’s time to plow snow. The chore wasn’t bad when I just had to make one run down the driveway and back. But when he snow was deep and blowing, it required several missions a day.

Since I haven’t yet acquired a surplus state snowplow, I use a blade on our farm tractor. Then I use the bucket to dump the surplus snow out of the way.

The spot I pick is usually the one where a dog decides to stand, tail wagging. Half the plowing time is consumed yelling at one dog or another to get out of the way.

What’s most unsettling about all these unexpected ranch chores is that I did plan to get some work done over winter. Through summer and fall, I kept throwing stuff in the tack room or the shop, telling myself, “That’s a good rainy day project.” Fix this, assemble that, install this. What that got me, of course, is a shop and tack room clogged with undone chores.

Les Zaitz writes occasionally about ranch life in Grant County.