On the Road Again

One major lesson I’ve learned from farming and gardening will stick with me forever, no matter what I do or where I go.  The book I’ve just read, The Dirty Life: On Farming, Food, and Love by Kristin Kimball speaks to it like this: nothing turns out the way you’d expect – never as perfect as you’d hoped or as awful as you feared. 

But for me, there’s a bit more, and that’s tied to what was never expected in the first place, the surprise that surfaces where you least imagined it.  For positive things, this elicits feelings of good fortune, and for negative occurrences, a state of shock that cuts wallowing off at the pass and steers you in the direction of figuring out what to do about it instead.

It’s like traveling.  I may hope to get from point A to point B in record time, but who knows what will happen along the way?  And as I’ve gotten older, record time is rarely, if ever, a goal.  I just want to get there, and if I end up on a detour that shows me places I never knew about, then all the better.  Quite possibly, I'll learn something.



Two cows diverged on a rainy road...



And on the farm, minor detours (and some major ones) occur pretty regularly.  A few weeks back I had gotten my morning work in, showered, and was ready to sit and relax with a cup of tea and a book on the back porch.  Before I managed even a sip I heard a sound that my brain attempted to classify as “not a problem,” but the gardener in me stood her ground and proclaimed “No chicken is free to roam my garden!”

I shouted into the house, “Chicken’s out, I got it!” and not even changing out of my dress into more appropriate farm clothes, I put on my boots and headed out with the dogs to catch her and put her back in the tractor to join the others, lickity split.  When the dogs headed in two different directions, the optimist in me paid no mind.  I looked in the tractor, which is when the pessimist revealed herself, hissing, “Oh, shit!”

So they were all out.  OK, so maybe I don’t got it after all.  I went inside and told the others, who were also enjoying other plans, to stop relaxing and help me catch the chickens.   I changed clothes, ready for some real work.

Have you ever gone on a chicken catching expedition?  One with fences, and brambles, and plants you don’t want trampled?  Oh, and with chickens? I had the added quality of “I CAN’T GET STUNG!” as part of this mix, so crawling over a yellow jacket hive was high on my list of things I didn’t want to do that day.

This is more his style, but he's willing to put in overtime herding chickens.

Squawking, fur flying, and confirming evidence that humans cannot (and should not) dive through fences ensued.  The dogs managed to push a few out from the grapevine tunnel allowing my son and me to each catch one as they sprinted past.  More were scurrying around in the pasture, so the Border collie rounded them up, nipping at their tails while we caught up and pounced. 

After those were caught, we realized we had a couple more to go.  The brain starts in with the dialogue of what may be.  No sign of them, which could mean they might have been taken by fox, weasel, or raccoons.  At this point I had no idea how long they’d been out, and anything was possible.  They could be in a tree somewhere or on the neighbor’s farm, either scratching at the back door or simmering in the stew pot.  I decided the best way to figure it out was to stay put in the garden, and just listen.  The book would have to wait, I’d have time later for another cup of tea, and what’s two showers in one morning?  It has rained cats and dogs this year and I'm on a well.

I worked in silence for a good thirty minutes.  I mentioned earlier my need to avoid stinging insects for the time being, so late morning gardening proved a bit nerve racking as everywhere I turned I heard buzzing or saw my nemeses zip by.  Believe me, I love them all, but until I know which one morphs me into a human strawberry, I have to be careful. 

The rest of the family altered their plans as well since they were already out, forced into farm work about seven hours before they had planned.  If there’s a mantra on this farm it’s this:  Adjust.



OK, now I get it.

So as I was discovering the reason why we thin carrots, I noticed my lab inching towards the blackberry bushes, ears cocked, nose doing the hula.  I crept behind her and heard a low baaaaaaaawk.  “Get it!” I cried.  She looked up at me slowly, her eyes clearly expressing, “But that will hurt.”

I called the Border collie, and the rest of the family came running, hearing the urgency in my voice.  When the collie approached, his eyes said the usual, “I live to serve.  What do you require of me, your humble servant?”  Without hesitation he burrowed into the brambles and sent two chickens exploding out.  My son caught one, and I just missed the other as I watched it slip through the fence.  I was over it in flash and trapped the chicken as she tried to get back through. The dogs were there in a heartbeat to help.



Home, home again....

So my morning hadn’t turned out as planned, and despite the potential problems, all was well.  The chickens were safe and sound again, the humans experienced challenging agility exercises, and the dogs got to practice what they do best.  It wasn’t my ideal late Sunday morning, but the outcome was ideal.  I guess it doesn’t matter how you get there as long as you enjoy the journey.