country – Page 7 – Angel Wheeler

I’ve Got Mail

A single joy of mine is walking to the mailbox. It’s not too far, but far enough. Just down to the green gate, then just a bit on the county road to the highway where three boxes are lined up waiting. We get no mail out here yet, we haven’t fowarded our address, so a questioning person might question my actions of walking to the mailbox. But it appeals to me.

Most days I walk to the mailbox, open it, cluck my tongue at its empty womb, close it, and walk back up the county road to the green gate back to the house. However, my daily walk found the mailbox fruitful the other day when I found my new ubscription to MaryJane’s Farm magazine. I quickly sat down and devoured it. Here’s an excerpt I’d like to share:

The Gift
by Alisen Payette, Missouri

I have learned a lot in the past eight years living on our small Missouri farm. I hae always loved food, but participating in the planting, growing, harvesting, and storage has caused me to appreciate it in a different way. I have come to say that my favorite thing about farming is sitting down to a completelyy homegrown meal in the middle of January. Just this last winter, I realized what a gift this lifestyle has truly been—and the awareness came in the form of a pie.

With each fork-filled bite, I tasted more than the pie…it was an experience, a memory. I looked at my neighbor, who had created this savory dessert to close an amazing meal. I thought of her pigs who had lazily watched her work the warm days of summer…they became the lard she rendered in the cool of the fall…which eventually helped create the rich, flaky crust that danced among my taste buds. I thought of the rhubarb, carefully tended, harvested, and prepared by her hands. As fresh cream slowly melded with the juice of the pie, I thought of the cow from the nearby farm who was led from the field to the barn and back again. I felt as if I were eating a gift wrapped in love, hard work, and true appreciation for the food itself.

Gosh, I wish I could describe how this writing makes me feel.
I have such dreams friends….

Thoughts on a Sunday

November 21

Today brought me the challenge of finding a sitting, reading, writing place outside where it was sunny and calm. But if the spot had sunshine, it also had wind, and if the spot was wind-blocked, it was also sun-blocked. I settled for sun combined with wind and I made due. But as I struggled holding down my pages with one hand, and constantly tucking hair behind my ear with the other, I couldn’t keep the thoughts of Lizzie Borden at bay.

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I laid across the bed of a wagon filled with scrap metal and let the sun warm my face. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, it was as if I was looking at the sky for the first time ever. I don’t recall it ever looking so blue.

Jason pulled up to catch the horses. He didn’t even notice me sprawled on that wagon of junk. The cows in the next pasture lined the fence to stare and watch the action of horses avoiding harnesses. The horses lost. They were loaded into a trailer and driven off. One by one the cows grew bored and dispersed to munch the grasses. I wonder why the phrase isn’t “curiosity killed the cow”?

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I haven’t seen the cat for several days. Why do I have a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach that she is flattened underneath one of the seven huge round hay bales that are lined up like soldiers in front of the house? All except one is in formation. I imagine a sargeant in its face yelling. But the day is too nice for screaming.

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I can’t wait until this trailer is in a completed state. I could be working to make that possible, but after all it is Sunday.

Happy Resting.

The Guinea’s a Goner

Earlier I introduced you to my friend, the guinea bird.

Unfortunately I must report that he fell upon a tragic accident.

My husband found him hanging upside down on the fence with one of his legs caught between two pickets. We don’t know how long he had been that way. He was still alive and Jason rescued him from this position. But his leg or hip was obviously broken and was dragging behind him. He couldn’t fly, and could barely hop. When we tried to get near him, he flapped his wings furiously, and attempted to run, and usually fell on his face. Jason thought we should just shoot him, but me being the optimist thought maybe he’d recover. So we placed him in the backyard and shut the gates so that nothing could get in there, like a coyote. I bought some food, and we watered him.

He lasted like this for three days. And then I didn’t notice him in the backyard. Come to find out, something got a hold of him and killed him. Jason shielded me from awful images, and had disposed of his body before I noticed it. We are suspecting it was a hawk that we’ve seen around there a couple of times. Please don’t dwell on his last moments. Don’t picture it. Don’t think about it. Go to your happy place.
It’s a hawk eat guinea world.

As my niece Ashlynn would say, “When it’s their time to die, it’s just their time to die.”

Aint it the truth. Aint it the truth.

A Failed Attempt

We have a bovine dilemma.

It consists of a cow who lost her baby and is left with a bag full of milk.

And a baby who was born a twin and its old momma doesn’t have enough milk for two which leaves it powerful hungry.

The logical answer would be to let the baby calf nurse a momma with a tight bag.

But it doesn’t work that way.

That’s not her baby. Which means she will not voluntarily let it nurse. And even though you might receive touching emails about tigers adopting puppies or wolves letting bunnies hop around on their heads, it’s not the way it works around here.

So Jason forces it, in an attempt to see if this cow will adopt the calf.

After penning the cow and calf, he runs the big bagged momma into a squeeze chute.

Then he gets the poor hungry calf.

And puts it to the tit.

It doesn’t know what to do at first, but with Jason’s coaxing and cussing, it catches on.

So we wait.

Now I would like to end this story with good news. I would like to tell you that this momma adopted this baby, its little calf belly is pooching, and all is well in the world.

But no such luck suckers.

She isn’t going to earn the philanthropist of the year award in the bovine category.

But the baby was given to a little tyke to bottle raise.

And I’m sure its little calf belly is pooching.

And all is well with the world.

Peace,

Angel

Chasing Antelope

This is some serious fun right here. Don’t believe me? Just try it next time you’re in a pasture and a herd of antelope come to graze.

Jason saw the antelope coming under the fence. I couldn’t even see them they were so far away. He has an eye for stuff like that.

He decided to get me closer so I could get a better look.

Their flight instinct kicked in. With hearts pounding and accelerated breathing, they took off.

And we decided to pursue.

Oh it was fun! Bouncing across the pasture on the tails of the antelope. Thirty miles per hour.

They zigged.

We zigged.

They zagged.

We tried to zag.

Antelope are much more agile than Chevys.

Their feet pounded the ground. Dust clouds billowed. I felt like a lion on the savannah. I pity the slowest prey, the last one. The one you know is about to be pounced and feasted upon. Its guts strung out over the prairie grasses.

I think I’ve watched too much National Geographic in my life.

We followed them for just a short while, giggling the whole time.

Then we stopped.
But not them. They were getting the heck out of dodge, away from those crazy antelope chasers.

Off into the wide, blue yonder,
safe and sound.