Well, brrr. It is somewhere in the icy realm of 25 below, with wind chills somewhere yet further than that. I’m thankful for our furnace, and my heated blanket, for a handful of black-and-white border collies who like to share body heat.

And we say, “Yeah, it’s cold enough.”

“Cold enough,” for the record, involves what I call work pajamas, so named when my husband noticed my clothes didn’t change a whole lot from in bed to out of bed. I informed him that I have my sleeping sweats and my working sweats. Because nice thick sweats are way more comfortable underneath insulated bibs than are stiff, cold jeans.

“Cold enough” is lingering a little longer over that cup of coffee, and it taking 45 minutes to muster the courage to bundle up, watching the thermometer creep upwards to a hopeful 4 below. Suddenly the house desperately needs tidying, and the spice cabinet needs organized.

“Cold enough” is when it takes 15 minutes to layer up — long johns and vest and bibs and sweater and coat and scarf and ski mask and hat and hood and gloves — only to realize you drank too much coffee and have to strip back down.

“Cold enough,” is when the smallest wind burns and bites any exposed skin, and your toes are cold before even leaving the house. Maybe you strip back down when you realize you forgot your second pair of socks. It is stomping the fire out of your feet after chores, and feeling the life come back with a vengeance.

“Cold enough” is a welcome mug of something hot, wrapped tight in chilled hands.

It’s when all the chicken eggs crack, one by one, when they hit the even colder air of outside the coop. It’s when eyebrows freeze and ice covers eyelashes from frozen breath. It’s when the front of my coat is frozen with droplets of milk after milking, from the spray of the milk zinging into the bucket. It’s a wonder Posey isn’t giving ice cream.

Yeah, it’s cold enough.

It’s breaking ice multiple times in a day, and my husband taking an axe with him anywhere he goes. It’s stomping blocks of ice out of the water pans, and feeding extra to everything to fuel their little furnaces.

It’s vehicles choking to life and clouds of exhaust in the frigid air, and clouds of breath from every nose and mouth.

It’s the dogs sticking inquisitive noses out the door and promptly changing their minds, or running through the snow packing a paw, ice caked between their toes. You thought you wanted a walk? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Yeah, it’s cold enough.

And rather understating the case, I’d say.