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Winter Morning on the Farm.

Writer's picture: Angie Angie

February has arrived and with it a thick blanket of sparkling white snow covering the farm.  Though the sound of dripping snow off the roof whispers to me that spring is not long away. This year, it saddens me, I desperately want to hold on to these slow days and quiet nights. I want my routine of sitting in the dark with only the orange glow of the wood stove, a hot cup of tea in my hand and River on my lap to never end. I am afraid to say goodbye to wintering. I am afraid of who I will be, come spring. I found comfort here in the isolation, I found a version of myself I forgot existed. A version of myself who is at peace, calm and content.

It was another frigid day, somewhere around -5 below or such, nothing unusual this winter. I find it amusing how much I am enjoying these bitter winter days; they make me feel so very alive. Theres a rhythm to the barn, a dance between myself and the animals and even though the steps sometimes change, an unfamiliar dance shaped, the animals fall perfectly into step with my lead. Even the wild birds learn the dance and participate. I know all the small sparrows that dart past me when I open the door to the barn in the morning, landing in the rafters to watch me as they sing their good mornings. There are the three crows that sit on the dead branch of the old maple tree next to the road, waiting for me to come out of the house, they watch to see if I have my shiny polished compost bucket. Flying to the young maple behind the barn, waiting to see what treats I leave on top of the compost pile before they swoop in, their cawing echoing off the still, snowy trees. I turn the barn lights on, and sleepy faces stare at me, good morning baas greet me, the rooster crows.

 I love the sound of the grain hitting the buckets as I scoop feed and know the animals are all patiently watching me from their stalls, waiting for breakfast to be served. After all the animals are fed, I stop and rest my arms on the stall door and watch our calf Pearl, waiting for her to finish her breakfast. I love her lopsided grin when she chews, her lower lip sticks out a little too far on one side, it is very endearing. Every few chews Pearl looks up at me, sticking her tongue out licking the air, I still remind her of the bottle of warm milk even though she has been weaned for a while now. I tell her I miss her bottle too; I miss the way my heart would swell while I held the bottle staring down into her big brown eyes with those long white eyelashes of hers. The warm feeling of running my fingers through her soft red fur along her neck while she drank, leaning against me.  The moment was always interrupted by Pearl headbutting the empty bottle, sending it flying. Then she would chase me around headbutting me, hitting me in my stomach and butt, head butting me anywhere she could in hopes of finding my udder, unconvinced that I was not hiding it somewhere. It was all part of the fun, a routine we both miss. Our routine now is just as wonderful, me waiting for Pearl to finish her breakfast so I can take her to the back paddock to be with the herd. She comes over and nudges me, letting me know that she has finished her breakfast. I walk outside and slide open her stall door, this is the signal for the geese to come honking. The geese charge passed me, nipping at my pant legs reminding me that they take their job as head of farm security very seriously. Pearl comes bouncing out, avoiding the small army of geese who are marching to clean up any grain she spilled, stretching their necks out grabbing at her back legs as she leaps by . The geese are what I call dual purpose, as obnoxious as they can be, they function as head of security and cleanup crew of the farm. Both are important jobs and ensure the geese job security despite their rather abusive treatment of, well, of everyone. The HR department on the farm is somewhat inadequate and there is no place to file grievances, allowing the geese to get away with murder, quite literally.

There have been several instances during nesting season where chickens and ducks have been found murdered by the beating wings and strong beak of a goose. Unable to find any witnesses willing to come forward and testify the geese were released back to the fields and allowed to once again free range. I’m not saying that its right that they are allowed to get away with murder, but sometimes a farmer must consider the greater good of all. Without the goose army surely the fox and coyotes would wreak havoc on the other animals, potentially putting an end to free ranging all together. We not only have eyewitnesses but also video footage of two of our ganders (male geese) defending a goose and the flock of ducks from a very hungry coyote. The ganders guarded the door to the barn where the coyote was attempting to enter and beat the wild canine senseless with their strong wings until he retreated. The coyote stared from the field, dumbfounded and I am sure a bit perplexed at losing what would have been a decent dinner to an army of fowl. Needless to say, a farmer must sometimes overlook the atrocious misbehavior of a goose or gander in order to give freedom to the greater flock.

Having made it past the army unscathed Pearl follows me down to the gate, my favorite part of the morning. There is something so grand about walking side by side with a cow, maybe it’s the memories I have of doing the same stroll to the gate with Promise, Pearls mom. Or maybe it’s the pure gratification of picturing a younger version of myself dreaming of the day when I could walk among the cows on a farm I would someday have and knowing that I was able to give that to her. I open the gate and coax Pearl through, she’s always a bit hesitant, leaving one place for the next. Then she sees the other cows, Annie, August and Petal coming down the slope from the barn, just finishing up their breakfast. Pearl bellows and runs to greet them excitedly; they lick her wishing her good morning and head down to me at the hay feeder. The sun has risen above the trees on our hill, the snow is bright, and everything feels illuminated. It’s cold but I don’t want to go in yet, I want to be with the animals just a little while longer, even though I know there’s a warm wood stove and a hot cup of coffee waiting for me. The goats with their thick wooly winter coats have come to join the cows around the round metal hay feeder, the chickens peck through the dropped bits looking for missed seed heads. They scratch the snow looking for bugs and find only frozen ground, though they don’t seem disappointed. I climb through the metal bars of the hay feeder and plop down in the soft pile of loose hay where I am surrounded by wet steaming noses. The cows soothing sounds of pulling hay from the pile, their flat teeth chewing the soft hay, side to side, the push of air from their nostrils and soft grunts lull me into a place of pure joy.

Wintering has slowed my pace and allowed me the stillness to pause and take in the ordinary, beautiful moments of my life. To feel a gratefulness and contentment with all of Gods gifts that surround me in every moment. Perhaps I am not afraid of letting go of wintering, maybe spring will be my wilding. A time to find myself in the dirt, under the sun and among the animals, trees and gardens.


With gratitude,

Angie


Pearl eating hay
Pearl with her head in the hay feeder looking at me. Notice the tongue.

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