Yesterday a friend said, “I wishI had your life just being on the farm”. Suddenly I realized that not everyone knows the reality of farm life. So gentle reader, here is the flip side of cute wildlife and pet bulls.
My days are bookended by morning work and night work (my Grandaddy’s words) as is every farmer’s day. In the morning I have to go to the stable and feed four equines and one bull, muck out two wagon loads of manure and feed the cat. After the nearly three inches of rain we had last week, the mud at the stable is impressive... suck your boots off mud. Then I have to go to the field to feed the cows. Again I walk through suck your boots off mud. Rain or shine, Florida warm or Arctic freezing, the work still must be done.
If I leave for the day or for choir practice or to eat out, the work is done before I leave or it will have to be done in the dark...day in and day out, the same work with no performance reviews or pay raises. Parenting was good preparation for this way of life.
As I drive down the hill to the cows, I see a busted fence board the cows can step over. I need to move the old hay into the leaning barn for bedding so the cows will have a clean space for the next cold snap. The bittersweet vines and the kudzu are taking over. Before spring we will need to cut as many of those pests as possible to kill them. I ponder when to fertilize the hay pasture and wish we could reseed our grazing pastures. The fence in the lane is leaning and almost down... another maintenance task. The horse trailer needs to be cleaned out after the trip home with Little Ferd. Many of these tasks Michael will try to get to on Saturdays and I help as I can. The reality of farm life is you do not get to punch out at five o’clock and go home. Your to do list is always full.
Jesus was born into this world surrounded by confusion and messiness. He, like us, lived and worked in a system that often did not make sense.The truth of the matter is most of us find hope and love and joy and peace in the midst of mud and muck and mayhem and monotony. The simple gift of life is not so simple after all. Our call is to give thanks not just for the hope-love-joy-peace parts of life but also for monotony-muck-mayhem-mud. One without the other has no meaning.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Simple Gifts...Squirrels, buzzards and a stray cat
Simple gifts... Squirrels, buzzards and stray cats
I walked down to the stables, crunchy white frost underfoot, to the sound of old Ferd’s soft moo. He was ready for breakfast. Bud the Barn Cat met me, twining around my legs as I put his food out. Junie B nickered, Dixie snorted and the donkeys whined because I wasn’t moving fast enough to suit them. After the stable tenants were tended to, I headed down to the cows in the Kubota.
A flotilla of buzzards floated overhead on their way to the landfill. Their formation flies over the farm in the morning on their way to work and in the evening on their way home to roost. An addled squirrel ran in front of the Kubota and served as my escort all the way down the hill. The cows were gathered around the feed trough waiting for me. Our new bull, Little Ferd, stood apart from the crowd. I am trying to gentle him. When I put the feed in the trough, I walk around the cows patting each of them. Little Ferd will let me pat his rump now but not his head yet. On the way back up the hill, a stranger cat, solid black, jumps in the brush with a mouse in his mouth. He has been hanging around for a week or so. We are not sure if he belongs to a neighbor or is a stray.
At the top of the hill, I look back at the mountains and valleys beyond. Clouds separate the mountains leaving them floating, disembodied peaks rising from the white mist. I turn the key off and sit in silence for a minute watching the new day come into being.
And so my day begins with a psalm of praise for addled squirrels, buzzards, stray cats and a new bull. I sing along with the neighs, moos, meows and crow caws in joyful thanksgiving for this most amazing gift of another day of life at Sabbath Rest Farm. We are all waiting on New Light to come in the midst of winter darkness.
I walked down to the stables, crunchy white frost underfoot, to the sound of old Ferd’s soft moo. He was ready for breakfast. Bud the Barn Cat met me, twining around my legs as I put his food out. Junie B nickered, Dixie snorted and the donkeys whined because I wasn’t moving fast enough to suit them. After the stable tenants were tended to, I headed down to the cows in the Kubota.
A flotilla of buzzards floated overhead on their way to the landfill. Their formation flies over the farm in the morning on their way to work and in the evening on their way home to roost. An addled squirrel ran in front of the Kubota and served as my escort all the way down the hill. The cows were gathered around the feed trough waiting for me. Our new bull, Little Ferd, stood apart from the crowd. I am trying to gentle him. When I put the feed in the trough, I walk around the cows patting each of them. Little Ferd will let me pat his rump now but not his head yet. On the way back up the hill, a stranger cat, solid black, jumps in the brush with a mouse in his mouth. He has been hanging around for a week or so. We are not sure if he belongs to a neighbor or is a stray.
At the top of the hill, I look back at the mountains and valleys beyond. Clouds separate the mountains leaving them floating, disembodied peaks rising from the white mist. I turn the key off and sit in silence for a minute watching the new day come into being.
And so my day begins with a psalm of praise for addled squirrels, buzzards, stray cats and a new bull. I sing along with the neighs, moos, meows and crow caws in joyful thanksgiving for this most amazing gift of another day of life at Sabbath Rest Farm. We are all waiting on New Light to come in the midst of winter darkness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
