Country Life
Surrounded by all these farms, it is impossible to not become just a bit aware of the sometimes harsh but always demanding nature of a farmer’s life.
They are to this day so firmly tethered to the changes of the seasons. Terribly at the mercy of mother nature’s whims.
City folk, me included, we have our impressions of “the country life”. One which is slow and easy. Country folk, however, may see it a little differently. Stressful, hurried and frequently out of their control. Qualities most often associated with the urban lifestyle are equally abundant here, just manifested less abstractly.
My fate was never to be a farmer. However, I cannot help but harbor tremendous admiration and respect for those who produce my food. I salute their sacrifice, their skills and intelligence, their success and their often equal acceptance of adversity. Thank you!!
Got To Plant The Corn
Always there is that whim of mother nature. What I wax on about poetically as the “rhythms of life”, here, they are “deadlines”.
It is early/mid May. Time to plant the corn. This is “feed corn”. Food for the cows. Spring is always either too wet, too dry, or too cold. Still, the corn must be planted, soon, or the season will cut short before it has reached maturity. It has been wet. Waiting and more waiting. The rains abate. Quick, quick! Everybody cutting the cover crop, the alfalfa, the rye, bale it for the hay. Then, suddenly, everywhere I look. Tractors with complex looking gear are urgently planting this seasons corn. Hurry! Hurry! More rain’s on the way. Amazing! Everyone’s out doing exactly the same thing at exactly the same time.
All About The Hay
Whew!!
All that frantic activity. It can be a little exhausting just to watch. I can’t begin to imagine.
But wait... Early June and now it’s all about the hay. Good spring rains and abundant sunshine
have given forth tall, lush green grass.
Again, everywhere I look and again as if on cue, everybody with a five acre meadow or larger is cutting morning, afternoon and evening. The cutting, raking and baling is ceaseless. Long, long hours!
The rains, earlier a blessing, now a threat. “Gotta get it in ‘fore it rains”. How many times have I heard that just this week?
Yesterday we passed a pasture up the road, maybe 5-6 acres, I don’t know. But, my God, there musta been 20-25 of the great round bales neatly scattered inside it’s fenced confines. I mean, it was like a hayfield on steroids. Sandy and I were joking that the farmer must have left those out there to “show-off”. “Man, ole Joe sure can grow some mean hay”. Must be the envy of all his neighbors. I joked, wonder if he brings in “ringer bales”? Ha ha!
Great round bales, they dot the pastures. They pass me on the roads, trailers piled high. They peek out of the opened barns. They are everywhere!! And the urgency of it all. Always the urgency!
Eeew! What’s That Smell?
Well! By now most all of that hay has been cut, rolled and put away for the season. What could be next? A break?
Well.... When your neighbors are dairymen. And because dairies depend on lotsa cows, well.. You see... they make big piles of cow poop. And... because you gotta do something with all that poop, and... because it makes a great fertilizer. You... well... quite naturally you spray that poop all over those just cut hay pastures, don’t you?
So... What’s that smell? Eau de poo, that’s what.
Yeah, it stinks, but, hey, it’s the country and that just comes with the territory. Like that before I arrived and like that after I’m gone.
A good friend of mine up here, a farmer himself, he’ll tell you “city folk are always talkin about organic this and organic that”. Then they’ll say “ eeew, what’s that smell? “That stinks”! He’ll tell em,“that’s organic”!
Yessiree!!
A Beautiful Windy Day On The Ridge
Morning walk up to Virginia, just toppin out on the ridge. Whew!! About 300 feet of elevation gain in less than a mile.
My God, it’s a beautiful day up here, I can see for maybe 20 miles.
I’m really hot from the “ascent” but a lovely mountain breeze is blowing. A nearly constant companion up here on top, they affect me and everything that surrounds me.
Today, brilliant sunshine, blue skies, puffy white clouds and..... the wind! The tall ripe grass in the fields is caught. The winds will touch down in one spot and begin to roll across the field creating a wave, no waves in it’s path. It’s mesmerizing!
I’m so enthralled as I witness this over and over again. I’m so fascinated by waves anyway. On the water, in the sky, the sands by the shore or in these fields, you can observe the same patterns, different situations, but the same physics at play.
Wow! As I crest the hill and to my right, an endless field of corn-rows (just where do you think the hairstyle got it’s name). The sun is shining, no, reflecting off of the corn. It looks just like water, shimmering in the sun. waves, undulating across the surface.
A mirage?
Black Eye, Wounded Pride
Ow!! Yes it hurts!! I haven’t had a shiner since I was a kid.
No, no Hemingway-like tales of machismo or heroism.
Me, standing barefoot on the sloped metal roof of our front porch, washing the bedroom window.
Now, the house is set in the woods and the roof grows a mean algae.
No problem! It’s dry and I’ll just take my shoes off. Not so bad!
Well, when you wash windows, you use water. And, well, as that water drips down and onto that roof. Well, that dry algae, it get’s a little wet and..... whoosh! Bang!!!
Me, face down on the sloping roof and that sinking feeling, oh shit! I’m sliddin oofffff!!
Me, spread eagle, makin “snow angels” in the algae as I slide. “Sandy, reach me that long handled squeegee”.
Got it! As I “squeegee” myself up the roof and finally my hand grabs the window sill. Whew!!
Bruised, bleeding, covered in algae and with seriously wounded pride.
Well! That was fun!
Common sense? Where was it?
A Calf And A Cow, A Farmers Life and Another Hard Chapter
Another morning, another walk up to Virginia.
Barely 10 minutes into the “ascent” and on the left, my neighbor’s barn, one of many. I know on sight what’s up. The Vet’s truck. The barn I know to be a frequent shelter for cows with difficult calvings. I know this story, not personally, but as one who closely followed the somewhat autobiographical exploits of James Herriot, the iconic country vet in his “ All Creatures Great and Small” set in 1940's Yorkshire.
This scene is probably not good.
I walk on, painfully aware of the drama playing out in the barn across the field. It’s a good walk, a lovely mountain day. The ”recent unpleasantness” momentarily forgotten.
As we prepare for the “descent” we happen across the farmer who I know has been playing his role in the drama further down the hill. I had seen his truck and, well, it’s his barn. He slowed as he passed and stopped to say his pleasantries.
I remarked that I had seen the Vet’s truck and asked if he had had to “pull one out”. “Yes” he answered. “It came out dead”. He looked tired. Tired and beaten.
“She’s down, don’t know, may be paralyzed”. Me, “we can hope not”. The emotion in his eyes.
These farmers, the really good ones, they care. They do get attached to their animals. The bond is natural, their livelihood, but more .
My heart sank for him.
His loss, financial, but more.
As I walk on down the hill, the barn to my right, I looked over. The gate to the bay was closed. The cow, she, laying down, looking out at me.
I was deeply saddened.
Her life, at this moment, hanging in the balance.
It was sad.
A hard moment. I walked on.
But a farmers life?
Another hard chapter.
Porch Sittin
My little cottage in the woods. No air conditioning, really don’t need it. Got a great big ole covered front porch, and it’s here we spend a great deal of our “quality time”. An outdoor living room if you will.
Yeah, I’m an outdoor person alright, you might say obsessively so. And this “eternal spring” stuff I’m always goin on about. Well it plays out perfectly on this here porch.
Whether by myself, with Sandy or with friends, it’s a wonderful spot to wile away a few hours.
A gentle breeze, a cold beer or a glass of wine, good conversation. It really doesn’t get any better than this!
And if good fortune should deliver a summer shower while I’m sittin out here, I mean, man... raindrops on a metal roof, that’s pure music to my ears!
What a shame, the loss of this simple pleasure our grandparents knew so well.
Cest’ le vie!
KC
