Moonlight Magic

Moonlight Magic
Feeding the livestock is an unending chore and a never ending pleasure. When I went downstairs yesterday morning to go feed, the mule wouldn’t start. With the temperature at 6 degrees, the cows and Junie B needed hay to eat so waiting until evening was not an option. I trudged out to the car in my coverall that is way too large, cuffs rolled up, crotch hanging down to my knees (it was on sale cheap at our local Rose’s), stocking cap pushed down on my head, wearing my muck boots covered in dry and frozen muck, praying the car would start. It did. So I drove down the hill with my head hanging out the window (heavy frost on the windshield) with Barney dog bouncing around in front, on my way to feed everybody.
The first stop was the old chicken barn. It is a two story remnant of the farm’s former days of glory. Now it serves as storage with a leaky roof and home to Patches, the black and white old lady cat, BudCat and Gray Boy. I climb the stairs to the second level where Patches waits, sitting on the edge of the feed hopper. Eye to eye, we have a one sided conversation as I put out the cat food and pick up the cans. Down the steps, carefully replacing the barrier to keep the dogs out, and I am in the car, now warm, and going to the leaning barn.
The leaning barn does just that... leans a little... as a souvenir of a long ago storm that ripped the barn in half. The remaining half serves as our hay barn on the upper level and provides shelter and feeding stations for stock underneath. The lower level manger is still full of hay. The cows slept outside last night so I do not have to throw hay down. Only Helen the cat is there for breakfast. Hattie the Horrible and her son are no where to be seen. The old yellow tom that was here when we bought the farm is an occasional visitor for food but not conversation. I load four bales of hay on the trunk of my car, open the gate and drive down the lane to the pasture.
Normally the lane during the winter is muddy and squishy but today it is frozen hard (six degrees, remember?)so I am able to drive easily back to the cows and Junie B. They are waiting, hungry and huddled around the manger. I stop in front of the old tack shed, open the door, feed Junie B her oats and carry a bucket of sweet feed to the feeder for the cows. They rush me as I pour the feed out, anxious not to miss a morsel of this treat. I cut the baling twine on the hay and spread the flakes out. It seems wasteful but daddy always felt they actually wasted less of it this way, didn’t step on it as much and everyone could have their own plate of hay. The balancing act in winter feeding is giving them enough to eat to keep them warm without giving them too much to eat. That causes problems of another kind. I put Junie B.’s hay next to her feed bucket and jump in the car, headed up the hill. I repeat this same process again in the afternoon at four o’clock.
When Michael comes home, I tell him about the dead mule and my problem feeding today. After supper, we go downstairs to the garage and he puts in a new battery. Since I had not been able to put out enough hay to last through the night, we bundle up and go for a moonlight mule ride to the barn. The cows still have not come to the barn to eat so we load up six bales and drive to the back. A full moon, wreathed in mist, lights our way and we drive without headlights, savoring the crisp cold clean breath of winter night. As we round the curve, we see Ferdinand the bull lying in front of the manger on a bed of straw surrounded by the other cows bedded down. Junie B, wearing her blanket, is bedded down with them. Heads lift and turn towards us, a novelty visit in the night. Cows are always curious about people. We seem to be their entertainment.
As I am raking out the leftover sticks and straw from the manger on my knees, I feel a head resting gently on my shoulder. It is Junie B. My cheek rests on her cheek and we lean into each other, content. Her horsey smell surrounds me and I close my eyes, feeling the pleasure of communion and the sweetness of trust freely given between the two of us. I reach up to scratch her ears and she nickers. I get the message... Where is the hay?
Moonlight magic... It is beautiful. Quiet and peaceful, frosted with moonglow, snow in the shade, the smell of hay, the sound of the creek, shadows from the bright moonlight dapple the hillside and I am happy. Joy not only comes in the morning, but also on moonstruck nights full of hope and longing. An epiphany...what has been an ordinary chore done hundreds of times before has been transformed into an act of grace and redemption, communion. Communion moonlight can transform us all, show us the hidden beauty that surrounds us in our ordinary lives and lift us up to a higher ground. Biscuits and mayhaw jelly, pita bread and wine, crackers and juice, woman and horse... it matters not. What matters is the transforming moment that comes when we lean into one another, cheek to cheek, and rest in the magic of the moment, grateful for all we have been given. Light for the journey, food for the body and companions to show us the way... All I have needed has been provided and I am made new in the moonlight moment. Thanks be to God.