Life on the Farm

[Halethala]

((*laughs* Dream, I doubt a tank-track behemoth would FIT on one of your charming lanes! . . and thanks, Thanatos ))

It rained . . finally!! Two months of spring with hardly more than spits and fizzles, and at last a nice inch or better to soak the thirsty earth. We have very rich soil here that turns the blackest black when wet, and sets a beautiful backdrop for the thousand shades of tender green plants. There was mist rising from the meandering bends of the river this morning as we crossed it (an ungodly hour of 5:30 am, but a wonderful time to be alive!) and all the golden patches of lawn are already softening back to pale greens, like a cancer patient re-growing her hair.

You can almost hear the collective exhale of our farming neighbors as some take a rare chance to sleep in a little. It's too wet to dig up dirt, but it doesn't necessarily mean a day off. Many have livestock, which have had to take the back burner while the spring planting was going full bore, but now there's time to "run them through the chute" . . pour on insecticide ~ or punch colorful eartags with the same into their ears like gaudy earrings ~ and implant and give shots and trim hooves and tails, if needed, and treat for ringworm or pinkeye or cancer eye or whatever else might be discovered before they are sent out to the summer pastures to be pretty much left alone for a few months . . to grow and spend a little "special time" with the happy bull, either primarily or as a "Clean-up" for anything that AI'ing might've missed.

There's a massive infestation of Army Tent Worms this year again . . we've tried to handle them without chemicals, going out and clipping off the webby nests and sacrificing them on a roaring pyre, but it's gotten out of hand. So we were given the leftovers of Warrior spray from the Real Farmers to treat our plum trees, honeysuckle and lightly treat the two Honeycrisp apple trees. We still pick stray worms off the Snowy Mountain Ash since it's right in front of the house. I'm nearly worried sick about handling Warrior . . the label makes it sound as if you could easily wipe out entire cities with a stunningly small amount of the stuff. My brother-in-law-the-Storyteller explained sternly just how little is needed for a full acre. Only $2.00 per acre, which doesn't sound so bad until you multiply it over an entire field . .

The amounts they have to measure into a full tank of spray, I'm not even sure how many gallons it holds, is something like .083 ounces per sprayer. Or is it per acre? No wonder they are now required to complete training and acquire an Applicator's License in order to even purchase their chemicals. I remember the days we actually did crop farm, having to patiently explain how many pints in a quart, how many quarts in a gallon . .

Which reminds me . . we had another family gathering, and though he wasn't but slightly inebriated, he DID share a whole lot more stories . . something about an odd neighbor who's cows were eternally breaking out of his decrepit fences and there was one that just up and died, right there in the middle his field . . left him lay there all winter until he had to drag the bones out next spring to plant . . . but that will have to wait for another time.

[Halethala]

((I wrote this elsewhere near exactly a year ago))

The aging sentinels, a trio of spartan evergreens, towered over the quieting waters, the dead needles now outnumbering the living. The only noise in the breezeless evening was the harangue of birdcalls in the uppermost, less denuded branches. Even in flight there was no noticeable sound, their wingbeats effortless without the need to battle any headwinds. The recent rains had not been enough to bring the lawn back to a fully verdant green again, yet the expanding patches of yellow would easily give way to life with a good quenching, when it came. This year . . or next.

The white supporting poles creaked gently when I propelled myself through the chlorinated pool waters, my head alone above the rippled surface. There should have been a placid peace in the absence of movement in the prairie air, but the unfamiliarity of it, coupled with an uneasy sense of an immutable tension that I could not quite define, made it feel more faintly eerie than tranquil. The winds would return. Whispering, caressing, hissing or howling, sometimes even raging. Welcomed and cooling and merry, persistent and churlish and destructive, it was so much a part of our world. To not have it was as if granted respite.

Sunlight, unmasked by clouds, was losing her strength she drifted down behind the crown of maples and ash trees to the west. The tiny fretwork of spider webs that had draped in gossamer canopies over several patches in the lawn and in the bloomless dianthus bed had mysteriously disappeared, and the drought had mercifully left few suitable places for the winged and biting insects to breed. The absences, all of them, felt like crossroads.

The long row of lilacs, planted by mistake . . . he wanted a hedge he could keep trimmed down neatly like they did in town, thinking he could tame and train the lilacs just as easily and any other ol’ hedge . . were once again even and relatively equal after the devastation of the 25 foot snowbanks a decade ago. The melt had taken forever, and left them mangled and broken. A casual passerby nowadays would never have known it.

We were strongly cautioned by the previous owners not to plant too closely to the roadway, but he decided to risk it. It hasn’t snowed like that since, although we may lose the hedge afterall next year when they widen the road.

You simply cannot anticipate everything.

((back to the present)) . . and now it is gone. I wasn't home when it was bulldozed down, but he said it only took three pushes. Either the machine was incredibly powerful, or the bushes were not as deep rooted as they seemed. They are laying in a tangled, sorry heap across the road, wilting.

But it has opened up the horizon to the east, and we can see things we could not see before. And folks who drive by . . or will in time again ((it's very weird not to hear traffic zoom by anymore) . . can now see into our yard plainly.

I think I will like it.

[Halethala]

All day and all night now there are the roaring of the harvestors around us . . tractors with gravity boxes, semi trucks, massive combines, fertilizer spreaders and miles of thick hoses . . and field diggers with wingspans nearly rivaling that of my house! . . their lights dotting the horizon in every direction. After the record setting dry summer there followed the record setting wet Autumn, and when the farmers should have been out in their fields, over 9 inches of rain spread across nearly 2 full months kept them from doing so. Mercifully, this month has proven odd as well, unseasonably nice and sunny and warm and dry. So the harvest is in full high gear.

Our mailbox was anchored back in front of our farmplace again, the ditches re-planted with a mix of hardy grasses and alfalfa that can be baled as forage by intrepid stockmen. My little detour with breast cancer left me unable to finish much of the tasks of bedding my gardens down for the winter, but the rains kept me out anyway.

The early, hard frosts robbed us of fall color just before it peaked, and yet there are still pockets of amazingly durable greenery that surprise a careful observer, here and there. Two snowfalls and counting already, yet today is coat-less and one of those brilliantly sunny days where you can't help but think it's going to last forever, that every day henceforth and always will be as benign and benevolent.

And productive.

[Halethala]

This summer is the very first ever in our marriage where I haven't had to stand shadowed and half hidden in the shade of whatever trees I could find to watch the brood cows for telltale signs of "heat". I cannot begin to explain how glad I am to be done with the yearly task. There were always a dozen distractions to draw my attentions away from the fertile ladies. They are someone else's problem now. Or someone else's meal, more likely.

One lone figure now roams our waist-high pastures, awaiting the arrival of the neighbor's cattle to share the lush grasses. My husband was once renown for his skills with a bridle, but we've only owned three horses in the last 27 years, each only briefly. Still, when 18 starving horses were rescued by the local Humane Society, the search for experienced horsemen brought him to mind. He declined, at first, but after a few weeks, offered to foster a few until the snow flies. By then, only one remained to be placed, a mare who we were told was "high spirited and difficult". A Thoroughbred, and a beauty.

Both are flourishing again. The mare filling out her boney flanks on the rich foliage and special grain mixture provided by others who love animals but have no place or means to own one. And my husband has "chores" again, something to do once he gets home from work. He named her "Kate" and she nickers softly when she hears him coming .... his daily ritual of vigorous brushing has teased all the winter coat off, revealing a shiny brown gloss beneath.

We had to be gone a few days, and I swear she became angry with us, refusing grain, keeping her distance. Perplexed, my husband wonders if someone stopped by and "messed with her". But I can't help but worry that she simply thought she was being abandoned once again. He is seeing more subtle signs that not all is well with her.

She may be scarred beyond healing, may never fully trust again. She absolutely hates the kind-hearted Vet who could only get one shot into her before she exploded into a mass of flying hoofs. So now my husband is gently and persistently teaching her to accept being squeezed into a loading chute so the Vet can properly care for her next time she visits. He was told that Kate is 17 years old (we guessed her at 4!) and was once tested on the racing track. No other history that we can learn.

Since it's no longer legal to sell old horses for slaughter, sometimes owners simply cannot afford to keep feeding them or pay someone to put them down and haul them away, they end up starving them, and sometimes not even burying them properly.

I don't know who will adopt her, can't imagine what her future holds. For now, this summer, she is well fed and cared for, and adds her graceful presence to our little farm.

[Dream Loxley]

How delightful to read of you again my dear friend. Keep it up! xxxx

[Halethala]

Looking younger than her years OHHH! And we were both really stunned to find out just last week that her official registered name is actually, ironically enough..... KATE! How weird is that?!

[Dream Loxley]

Just means she was meant to find you both xxxxx

[Sir Kyle Draven]

~just smiles~

[Cara McKenna]

Shes absolutely beautiful and she fits her name well...