I'm Moving, Please Come Along!

During the months I came slowly back to life again following the crushing blow of losing my teaching job, I began going with my husband each morning to do chores (I took early retirement when my special reading program was discontinued; I wasn't fired or anything but I suffered anyhow.  I so loved teaching kids to read).

I have always loved nature and living on a farm, and so I found peace and healing  in the beauty of Kansas mornings.  The camaraderie with my husband along with exercise and learning some new skills brought renewed hope.  As I awakened to the blessings God had provided, I began to write once more.  My morning jaunts with John along with the photos I posted on this blog served as inspiration for the descriptive passages in my novel as I wrote of a young teacher who loves her students.  Before I knew it I'd crafted a novel that is a fictionalized memoir of my first year of teaching.  It is called The Children Are Tender. 

I'm melding my "Back on the Farm" blog entries with those at my new blog, At Home in Karola, Kansas.  I hope you will follow me there and tell your friends about this book; because I am convinced God has a plan for families, for schools, and for teachers that will bring new hope to our nation's educational system.

God bless each person who has read and enjoyed these entries here at Back on the Farm. You were a part of my healing process and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

Autumn Again--Thank Goodness!

 It has been six months since I entered a post here at "Back on the Farm."  Spring planting time came, and that is a busy time on the farm.  I tutored a little boy this summer, giving him lessons every weekday morning until he blossomed into a reader; and this was a blessed but time-consuming task.  And our second grandson was born in July!  For a time we were all overwhelmed by the amazing workload a new baby brings, a frantic time of busy-ness that was infused with the great joy of precious new life.

And then there was a drought. In August my schedule cleared and I once again began accompanying Farmer John on his daily rounds, but I had no heart to describe the terrain we covered.  Grasses gone brown and dormant, a sun that had become malevolent in its scorching intensity, crops that withered and died...it was worse than disheartening; it was very nearly horrifying.  Our ponds went dry and we began hauling water for cattle.

Small silver linings appeared. When ponds are dry they can be cleaned out and deepened, and John rented a bulldozer to complete this task.  And then at a meeting John attended a conservationist told him that drought is one of the best ways to break up the hardpan layer of earth that can compromise drainage for fields and pastures. Those deep cracks in the earth that nearly made tears come to my eyes--it seemed the land was crying out for water--served a valuable purpose after all.  But it was a sad and wearing time nonetheless.

Finally, toward the end of September, we received a 3 inch rain.  Grasses greened, and the cattle grazed eagerly. The ponds John had cleaned were no longer completely dry.  A week or so later there was another half inch or so, and then nearly an inch fell this past weekend.  And the hundred degree temperatures of late summer finally gave way to freshening breezes of early fall.

This morning I picked up my camera as Farmer John and I left the house to do chores. We are blessed to welcome autumn back on the farm!

Our little yellow farmhouse. The maple tree at the left of this photo has turned red and the grass has greened due to recent rains.  

Weeping willow with a thick vine of red poison ivy in the background.  The leaves on the trees look healthy again.  s

Counting My Blessings

Writing this blog has been good therapy during a difficult season of my life. It has allowed me to record my blessings by focusing on what is beautiful and praiseworthy.  I wonder, though, how edifying a blog such as this one is for others to read? Might it seem like one long "I've got it so great" Christmas letter?

My life looks idyllic to those who are in the work force, prisoners of schedules imposed upon them by others. During my 25 years of working outside the home I remember very well how I felt about the sound of the alarm clock when it went off at 5:30 each morning. (Alas and alack, I still wake up at 5:30 a.m., but rarely to an alarm now, PTL!)

I did not leave my job voluntarily, exactly.  I could have stayed on, but budget cuts and changing educational mandates did away with Reading Recovery in our little school.  I had established the Reading Recovery program in our district, which required a boatload of work and a huge time commitment. It was also a heart commitment; I was passionate about teaching children to read. More than that, I felt anointed to save children from the tragedy of being non-readers.  I headed this program for eleven years.

I stayed for one year after the Reading Recovery program was banished from our school.  I had been so highly specialized for so long that the powers that be did not quite know what to do with me.  I was bypassed for committee appointments that would have kept me on the front lines of knowledge and given me the skill set that would have allowed me to be of value in implementing the new initiatives that came to us from our State Department of Education. I felt unwanted and obsolete.

The rest of the story is that I also felt the Lord leading me right out the door. My mom has Alzheimer's, and lives with us. My husband is getting older and runs our farming operation pretty much by himself.   My daughter and son-in-law live near us and will make us grandparents for the second time this summer. There was definitely a full life waiting for me outside the doors of the school that had been my second home for so many years; but I grieved, oh how I grieved to leave teaching behind, years before I'd planned to do so.

As happens for so many of us, I'd suffered grief upon grief.  Just regular life happenings, but I found myself not coping well.

And so the Lord in His wisdom has led me to this quiet oasis of time that I pray--I PRAY--I am using well.  It has been a healing time.  And, because my assignment from the Lord for this time has been to write a book, there has been much silence.  The rhythm of my days for these months has been to spend mornings on the farm, and afternoons writing. It has been a blessed and productive time, different from anything I have experienced before.  It has been a time of honesty before the Lord.  With my days no longer filled with busy-ness, I've had to own up to the grief and fear I'd been able to keep buried when there were constant demands on my time. I thank the Lord for this time.

God's creation is healing because it reflects His nature.  I took a walk at about 9:30 yesterday morning and found the air scented with a fragrance so sweet that it defies description; I wish I could bottle it and offer it up with the photo below.  We had rain a few days ago, so there was a cleanliness along with a green scent of tiny leaves unfurling and blossoms of some sort...almost like the scent of lilacs.  The light was beautiful, not adequately displayed in these phone photos; and I stood on the bridge from which the top photo was taken and watched the progress of a carp feeding in the stream below. 

God is so good. I praise Him for this healing time back on the farm.

This was taken a few nights ago at sunset on a walk around the lake south of our house. 

Bloom and Bloom Again

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future' (Jeremiah 29:11).  

This is a Bloomerang ™ lilac. The ad said, "Bloom and Bloom Again!" The lilac bush by my porch is not quite this far along, but is definitely going to bloom early this year if we don't get a much dreaded frost.

This blog has been an attempt to count my blessings, and as such has been effective. I have begun to feel thankful for where I am in life. 

However, in the past few years my father died of cancer, my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and I gave up my teaching job when the special reading program I'd run for eleven years was discontinued because of budget cuts. During this same time period both my children grew up, left home, and then married. Seeing my children happily married has brought much  joy, but the end result is that here Farmer John and I sit in our empty nest.

Well, wait; I can hear Annie barking "What about me?"  And I mustn't forget my 87 year old mother, who lives with us...not such an empty nest after all...

At any rate here I am, spending my mornings back on the farm, my afternoons working on my first novel in the pretty little brown room I call my office; and most of the time in between is spent caring for my mother. I'm counting my blessings, but I'm aware I have some unfinished grief work to do before I can fully enter into the "new song" of this next phase of my life. Unreconciled grief and loss cripple because of the introspection they cause, while wounds healed by the Lord's light can in turn minister to and support others; we comfort with the comfort we have received. My assignment for this time has been to bring my hurting heart into the Lord's light.

 I remember when I was I child I dreaded my mother's ministrations after I'd scraped my knee. I would claim it didn't hurt and I didn't want a band-aid after all, but she would always insist. "We don't want that to get infected," she'd say as she scrubbed the dirt away and applied ointment, often to the accompaniment of my howling protests. 

And so I've tried hard to open my heart to the Lord and to sit still (without too much howling) while He gently exposes all my sorrows and then applies his healing balm.This has been such a quiet time, a winter time of silent sadness and unexpected beauty. I am grateful for this time back on the farm. 

Spring is here, a time of new life and stepping out, time to let go of winter's chill and move forward. I'm surprised at the amount of courage it takes for me to hold to the hope of Jeremiah 29:11 (above).  Disappointments and hurts make it seem more prudent not to venture out. Challenges so seemingly innocuous as the prospect of volunteering to help with a preschool Sunday School class cause my heart to pound with fear. Yes, because I was not appreciated or valued for the work I did as a teacher of children who could not read, I fear being unappreciated and undervalued at any new job I undertake; I'm really not quite all right yet. What a sad confession. But you know it would be sadder yet if past wounds kept me from future service. Healed wounds lose the power to cripple.  My heart is healing.

I confess I wish winter had lasted awhile longer. Winter was cozy and safe. This audacious spring invites participation and activity that I don't feel ready to join.  But spring is upon me, whether I would have it or not...and so...

I'll dare to hope. If I place my hope in the Lord I won't be disappointed. 

 The following lines are from

 George Herbert's Poem, "The Flower"

Grief melts away
Like snow in May,
As if there were no such cold thing.
Who would have thought my shriveled heart
could have recovered greenness? It was gone
quite underground, as flowers depart...

 .

..And now in age I bud again;
After so many deaths I live and write;
I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing. O my only Light,

It cannot be
That I am he
On whom Thy tempests fell all night.

Outdoor Cats

.

This little girl is half Siamese and SO pretty--but she won't stay out of my artfully arranged bouquets! 

Here is Lady Gray.  When we discovered she was a he, we changed his name to Earl. (Earl Grey, get it?). However, we've now started calling him "Mr. Fluffy."

It is not politically correct, but we provide shelter and food to an assortment of outdoor cats.  I've read recently that the responsible thing to do is to capture them all, spay and neuter them; and then make them into indoor pets.


I'm pretty sure the people who have decided this don't live on a farm, and I'd like to see them capture the half dozen or so cats that live in Farmer John's workshop.  Catch them? Ha! Make them into indoor pets?  It'd be about as doable as taming a full grown bobcat. We buy cat food in 50 pound sacks and in return for a reliable source of food and water, these cats keep the barn and surrounding buildings free of pack rats and mice. It is a good trade. They are healthy, good mousers; and not the least bit tame. 

A few of them have migrated down the road a quarter mile to live around our house. I welcomed them because I hate mice, and it is difficult to seal every point of entry in our 100 year old house. We haven't had a mouse in the house or pack rats in the garage or surrounding buildings since these cats arrived. They have become somewhat more domesticated than the barn cats, and will allow us to stroke them if they are in the mood.  Our dog, Annie, has never completely resigned herself to their presence but the barn cats have taught her it is best to leave felines alone. 


I understand that city cats are definitely better off indoors, but  our cats have a good life. Yes, they sometimes beat one another up, but the pecking order is mostly established now and currently not one of the several cats who live around our house has battered ears or a scratched nose.  They perform a valuable service for us in helping with rodent control which is a real problem around our grain bins and out buildings. And when they laze in the sun on the porch glider they add such an ambiance to our rural home! 

I think a few well cared for feral cats are a good idea back on the farm.  

Change is Good!

In case this blurry phone photo doesn't reveal detail, this my a western cut, pearl snap shirt draped over my farm boots. Who would've thought it? 

Last evening my daughter, grandson, and I were coming back from a run to Subway for sandwiches when I saw a calf standing in the middle of the road. I thought he'd probably escaped through the bars that run atop the concrete feed bunks; sometimes a smaller critter can squeeze through this space that is designed to accommodate heads only for the larger animals. My daughter was driving and, having followed my former non-farm-participation example while she was growing up, didn't have much inclination to take action. She looked somewhat alarmed as I confidently leapt from the car and chased the animal on foot.  He instantly ran the wrong direction and took refuge behind the oil tanks across the road, but I've had some experience now and knew what to do. I opened the gate to the feedlot and then took off through the ditch and across the bumpy pasture to flush him out.  He was just a young calf--about 450 pounds--and was feeling his oats (or  rather, corn chop). He kicked his heels in the air and again took off the opposite direction.  


My daughter was sipping her coke and staring into space when four year old Daniel, who had been watching his grandmother's antics, shouted, "Quick, Mommy, here comes the cow!"  I ran to the driver's side, hollered to Dear Daughter to scoot over, and the chase was on.  


"Ummm...you might want to fasten your seatbelt," I said.  


It was fun. I looked over at my daughter and saw the alarm on her face as she fumbled for her seatbelt. I  could empathize;  many times over the years I have been in her position. But, unbeknownst to her, I had no intention of indulging in the driving heroics of which Farmer John is capable. It was a fairly sedate ride. 


The calf ran into the lot, I got out and shut the gate, and we went home to supper.  


I was hot and tired and showered before bed.  As I left the room I looked back at the boots and shirt I'd left lying on the floor and laughed aloud. I've traded my teacher cardigans and slacks for jeans, a down vest, and yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I actually own and wear a western cut pearl snap shirt. I never would've anticipated making such a radical life change at age 58.


Who would've thought it?  God is good, very good, and I am so blessed. 

How Tired Farmers Take a Walk

I started to entitle this post "How Tired OLD Farmers Take a Walk."  But then I decided to stop calling myself old, even if it is kind of true.  


John was sitting in his chair, feet propped up; eating a peanut butter/chocolate cookie from a batch given us by a friend. K-State is playing basketball this afternoon and he was enjoying a few minutes of after lunch  respite before heading back out to do some work.  I appeared at his side wearing sweats and walking shoes; and poked him in the ribs.  "Let's go for a walk."  


He was not enthusiastic.  


I said, "Fine, sit there and eat a cookie that I can't have because of my cholesterol, I'll go by myself."  And off I went.  


When I reached the top of the hill across from our house I heard John yelling, "I'm coming, I'm coming!" Grinning, I turned and went back down the hill to meet him.  


When we reached the top of the hill once more, we were both puffing like steam engines. This caused us to draw different conclusions about the need for exercise: 

John:  See how much trouble this is?  

Linda:  See how much we need to exercise? 


I crossed through the fence that goes into the wheat field up on the hill, planning to walk along the south side of the tree line in order to be sheltered from the wind.  I made it through the strands of barbed wire, then turned and looked back at John. I was startled to see him lying, spread eagled on the ground. Annie, our dog, ran over and placed her head on his shoulder.  Outnumbered, I clambered back over the fence and joined them (after making sure John didn't need CPR). The sky was blue, and we were sheltered from the breeze.  In unison we all three heaved a contented sigh. 

Not a bad way to take an afternoon walk, back on the farm! 

Busy Winter Days

The past few weeks we've spent our mornings feeding cattle. Annie (our dog) insists on riding in back even when the days turn bitter, which hasn't happened but a couple of times this winter. My normally conservative husband actually was considering buying her one of those expensive doggy coats but in an uncharacteristic role change, I talked him out of it, telling him she could stay at home when the days are too cold. But she howls so heart brokenly when she is left behind that he rarely leaves her. One day when I was staying at home because it was so cold, I insisted that Annie ride in the cab. John said she was so unhappy that he finally stopped the truck and let her get in back. 

Annie's muzzle turned white when she was still young--just 2 or 3.  She's about seven years old now. 

 We've attended the cattle sale several times but prices have gone high and we haven't bought the past couple of weeks. This photo is from the sale barn at the livestock auction we've been attending weekly:  

As I wrote in a previous post, I felt validated by the sale barn staff when I was given my very own "Eat Beef" farm cap. John says I completed the acceptance phase when I fell asleep during the cattle sale a week ago; if you really belong there you are comfortable enough to drift off (?).  It seems one of his pasttimes when he's not interested in the cattle being run through the ring is to count how many folks have fallen asleep. On this day it was just two fellows that were probably both over 80--and me. 

I alienated most of my Facebook friends when I posted that, in this unusually mild winter, I longed for just a little bit of snow.  Wow that struck a nerve.  I had to apologize and everything.  But this morning when there were two inches of snow on the ground, I'm afraid I enjoyed my morning walk even more than usual. The person who was the most vexed with me was my husband, Farmer John, who suspected me of actually praying for the snowfall and does NOT like feeding cattle when there is wet and icy white stuff on the ground, imagine that.  

Morning walk 2/13/12.  It was misting and so I had my hat pulled down over my sunglasses. Guess I need one of those stocking caps with a bill! 

I Feel So Accepted!

A week ago John and I attended the weekly cattle auction. It was a cold day, and the sale barn was warm; and I admit I was about to fall asleep when suddenly I realized John had just bought three 500 pound critters. I sat up straight and paid closer attention, and was more alert a few moments later when he bought 16 more.

We had to wait in the office at the sale barn for nearly 30 minutes for the paperwork to be completed. I made friends with the Australian cattle dog that was sleeping on the floor of the office, quite a friendly girl.

When the clerk brought up our paperwork she apologized for the wait and gave John a brand spanking new farm cap that said, "Eat Beef" in red letters against a blue background. I was standing a few feet behind John wearing a Carhartt jacket, my Ariat boots, and worn jeans. She turned to me and said, "Would you like a cap?"

"Why yes, I would," I said.

I am very proud of that cap.  That lady is a veteran at the sale barn and obviously knows a real farm woman when she sees one. :)

Bookwork and a Bouquet

I have not been out on the farm for a week-and-a-half. I have been spending my time doing end of year records the old fashioned way; with a #2 pencil in a ledger book. Next year I'll probably put the farm records on computer, but I have to admit there is a kind of satisfaction to be had in putting pencil to paper--all those neat little rows of numbers and notations--never thought I'd say this about bookwork, but I'm kind of enjoying it.  

Farmer John prefers this old fashioned method, but we both are a bit sheepish about it and know we need to go ahead and proceed into the 21st century. But even as I shop for farm record software I am pretty certain John will continue to use the ledger book he's utilized for years.  This is probably a somewhat belated end of an era though; no matter how nifty the old fashioned way feels, you can't beat having 40 numbers added for you automatically at the click of a mouse. 


The weather has been amazingly clear and beautiful--springlike temperatures in the afternoons but with that gorgeous, winter-clear sky.  I couldn't stand being inside a moment more today and went tromping through the "woods" across from our house. I climbed the dam to the rock quarry lake atop the hill and startled about 500 Canadian geese, who took to the air with a great flapping and honking.  The lake is down and I walked out to the edge of the water and stood among hundreds of water lily stalks that looked strangely skeletal and barren. But gathered into a bouquet and photographed against that blue sky they were beautiful.  

winter bouquet

The flock of geese circled around and, discussing me loudly with loud cries and honks, flew right overhead. They didn't like the looks of me and kept right on going, but behind them came an eagle; majestic wings spread wide, riding the air currents, scanning the ground for any rodents the geese might have startled with their racket I suppose.  He circled overhead, apparently sizing me up but not finding me to his liking.  I watched him until he banked and flew off to the west and out of sight.  


My afternoon walk was almost as satisfying as going out with Farmer John to do chores, but not quite.  Next week I hope to be back on the farm. 

Fixing Fence

It began innocently enough. While out doing chores this morning I mentioned that I sure could use more exercise. Farmer John looked over and said, "How about right now?"


I was suspicious. "No heavy lifting."


"Not at all," he assured me. "Just a nice walk up to the wheat field to fix some fence."


I brightened. I had my brand new leather gloves in my farm bag and dug them out, adjusted my stocking hat, and said, "OK!"


John pulled into a hay meadow and said, "Let's go."


I looked around.  "Let's go where?" 


"Follow me!" And off he went. 


We went through brush, over a creek, over two fences, and up a mud-slicked hill.  And did I mention that the creek had water in it?  Running water?  I was whapped in the face with sunflower stalks and had my courage tested as I tiptoed over wet and muddy rocks at the creek. 


All in all it was a fine adventure.  I took a lot of photos and felt like an intrepid explorer.  We gained the top of the hill and there was a stiff breeze blowing. I was too warm from exertion and chilly at the same time. 


I spied the Bobcat sitting next to the fence that needed repairing.  The photos below tell the rest of the story. 

Farmer John fixing fence.

Farmer Linda fixing fence. 

OK, I did roll up some barbed wire and did a few other mildly helpful things. But this made a good story, and I'm all about making a good story! 


I loved this day tromping over hill and dale (and through the creek) back on the farm.

New Coveralls and a Persimmon

The propane tank is full, firewood has been stacked, and we've made one of our infrequent trips to Sam's Club in Topeka, stocking up on everything from Kleenex to canned soup.  We are cozily ready for winter.  

This morning the temperature on John's temperamental but usually accurate wireless indoor/outdoor gauge read 22 degrees.  We plugged in Annie's heat mat (Annie is our dog), and dug out the two heated water bowls for the cats (front porch) and for Annie (back yard). At the shop today in between welding projects, John plans to use a large plastic barrel to create a warmer sleeping spot for our five outdoor cats.  I'll be interested to see his finished design, because I can't quite picture how that's going to work. 


As I pulled on my brand new insulated coveralls this morning I thought, "Now I'll find out what all those dire warnings have been about."  I've been getting a lot of knowing looks and doubtful smiles from farming veterans who rightly believe I'm not, shall we say, the hale and hearty outdoor type.  I do love spending time outdoors, but I've never had a lot of stamina.  It's probably kind of late to start, but I am suffering the delusion that it is possible to become accustomed to a little more strenuous level of physical labor than I've attempted in the past.  

There was a brisk north wind blowing and even though I was wearing several layers of clothing I nevertheless got thoroughly chilled.  By the end of the morning I'd added a muffler, a hunter orange hood, and a jacket to my ensemble, but I hid the camera and Farmer John wasn't able to document those additions to my wardrobe. However, I noticed that he kept laughing every time he looked at me. Although this did not please me I couldn't really blame him. I looked like a clown ready for a circus act while he looked manly and well turned out, sort of like a lumberjack. This is not fair, because I try harder.  John's idea of grooming is to shave. I know  I can't win the hard work and knowledge category of the farming contest, and so I'd at least like to have been eligible to win the "cutest in farm clothes" portion of the competition.  But he is the clear winner in that category as well.  Oh, well. 


I drove, and "stabbed" 3 bales with the hay fork, picked 'em up (ok, I pushed the button that caused the hydraulic fork to raise), and set 'em down.

When John got out of the truck to open a gate he grabbed the camera and took my photo as I drove into the field.  He still can't quite believe I'm doing "farmerish" stuff.  That heifer at the left in the photo above is also looking at me pretty incredulously. 

Awhile later Farmer John removed some shanks from an anhydrous spreader that he shares with a neighbor.   He's going to use special welding rods to apply a hard surface coating to the edge of the shanks so they will last longer.  There was a persimmon tree nearby and my gallant spouse presented me with one of the fruits.  

Now, as I've shared here, I really am a farm girl at heart.  When I was young I used to roam the woods back of my Grandpa's farmhouse with my cousins, and I learned at an early age not to eat a green persimmon.  But this one looked ripe.  

I touched my tongue to the ripest portion and quickly drew back.  Hmmmm...sweet!  Persimmony!  Tasted like my grandma's jam!  Encouraged, I took a tiny bite of the fruit.  Almost instantly that distinctive, dry and puckery sensation spread throughout my mouth.  If I hadn't known better I'd have thought I'd been poisoned.  


I attempted and failed to force feed Farmer John the remainder of the persimmon.  

All in all, it was a pleasant morning back on the farm!

Maybe...

I chased another cow tonight.  I'm learning.  I sped around her, leapt out of the car, and opened the gate.  I'd planned to circle back, get behind her, and bring her to the now unobstructed opening.  To my surprise she ambled right on through while I was still in the process of opening the gate.  I was scarcely six feet away from her.  John has his cattle so tame from wooing them with corn chop that most of them are pretty easy to handle. 


As I was chasing this critter down the road it occurred to me that the skill I actually need to gain is that of fixing fence. I bought myself a pair of leather gloves the other day and my tetanus shots are up to date.  Maybe I'll give fence fixing a try.

Chasing Cattle

Since I married Farmer John there have been numerous occasions when I've been recruited to help chase cattle.  I am always reluctant to participate in such endeavors because I don't do it right.  The way I know that I don't do it right is that my husband says, "You aren't doing it right." 


After a few of my failed efforts to be of help when cattle were out, we reached a consensus:  if cattle need to be "put in," it is Farmer John's problem and not mine. The advent of cell phones helped greatly with this arrangement; if I see a critter where it should not be, I just call Farmer John. 


However, yesterday afternoon there was a 700 pound heifer grazing contentedly in our front yard (I know she weighs 700 pounds because I became an expert at guessing the weights of livestock being run into the ring at the sale barn when we were selling our cattle this fall).  I stood gazing at her for a moment or two and then set my jaw in determination.  If I didn't do it right there were would not be a witness; Farmer John had gone to a sale in Topeka. 


My little red Ford Escape was conveniently parked in front of the house and I jumped behind the wheel and drove toward the heifer.  She gazed at me impassively and decided I posed no threat.  She resumed grazing the tasty dandelion greens and crabgrass of our front yard.  I gunned the motor, laid on the horn, and headed toward her again.  She took the point and ambled down the driveway in the opposite direction I'd intended her to go.  The chase was on. 


She trotted down the road ahead of me and I opened the gate on the south side of the road.  I circled behind her and brought her back to that gate, but she'd already checked it and, having found it closed, saw no point in checking it again. 


I opened the gate on the North side of the road.  I circled around behind her again and she obligingly turned and trotted down the road.  But she had already tried to get in through the gate I'd just opened, and the result was the same as with the south gate.  She didn't even cast a glance toward the open gate and down the road she went. 


This went on for what seemed like several hours.  She finally tired of being chased in circles and jumped over the fence, trotting out into the pasture without a backward glance.  I wearily closed both gates and went back home.  When I checked the clock I saw it had been only about 25 minutes since I'd walked out the front door. 


When Farmer John returned home from his sale he said, "Anything interesting happen around here while I was gone?"  


I hesitated just an instant and then said, "No, nothing much."


No use changing the status quo. 

He Makes Them Skip Like a Calf

Just a few seconds before this photo was taken these calves were cavorting by kicking up their back legs and butting one another with their heads.  

Finally, after ten days of being under the weather with two different viruses, I was back out doing chores this morning.  I was so happy to be outside and feeling better that everything seemed more delightful than usual, from the mourning dove cooing on a high wire to the antics of those calves pictured above. "He maketh them also to skip like a calf..." (Psalm 29:6 KJV).


My new skill of the day was picking up a big bale with the hay fork. For some reason I cringe as though I'm frightened of whiplash when Farmer John is backing up to a bale. Once in awhile he backs into the bale with a bit of a jerk and I act like we've been in a car accident.  Today, after looking at me for a long moment when I reacted like this, he said, "Why don't you drive?"  And so I did!  

Me, in the driver's seat.  John had no comments about my driving--though when I went around corners I noticed that he grabbed onto the edge of the seat.  I like to go fast. 

I picked up 3 bales and set them down by the bale feeders, which John then plopped down atop the bales.  This system worked pretty well because it saved him a bit of time.  

The main thing I needed to remember was not to set the bale down on top of him while he was cutting the net wrap off.  Ummm...just tried to do that once, but he hollered in time.  

I hope we have an extended time of this moderate weather.  People keep smiling in a knowing way and saying "Wait until it gets cold."  In anticipation of that I've ordered insulated coveralls which, I fear, will not make me look ten pounds thinner as I earnestly strive to accomplish with my other wardrobe choices.  

I am very glad to be back out doing "farmerish" things. 

Wish I Were Back on the Farm!

This photo was taken October 24.  Throughout October when the sunlight was at the right angle, plain old bluestem grass turned into stained glass with the light shining through translucent yellow stems. 

Last week I combined 20 acres of soybeans ALL BY MYSELF!  The machine was easy to run, but nevertheless there was a lot for me to think about at the end of each row; how far to allow for a turn, don't take out a fence row, remember to raise the header, and perhaps more importantly, remember to lower the header once I start combining again.  And I'm sure my wavering paths through the field would have bothered Farmer John--if he'd been there.  But he was taking a load of beans to town so I had freedom to figure things out by myself.  I didn't ruin anything, praise the Lord.  

But this week I've been housebound with a cold, and have really REALLY missed being outside.  I'm reminded of a "Farmer Johnism" from one day a few weeks ago.  Over his lunch break John had completed a couple of jobs from my "honey-do" list; a leaking faucet had been repaired and some needed items had been fetched from the scary basement. John does not bear being housebound any better than I, and when he emerged from the basement he didn't allow me time to think of another household job for him to do.  "I've got to go do some farmerish stuff," he said emphatically.  And he was gone!  Well, this week I've been missing doing "farmerish" stuff.  

I carry a notebook around with me in my "farm bag" because, let's face it, I'm more a writer than I am a farmer. When anything amusing happens (more often than you might expect), I jot it down for this blog. Here are a couple of Farmer John quotes from last week:  

John protests loudly at my careless treatment of a wrench when I toss it aside so I can sit in the passenger seat of the truck. 
 Me:  (sarcastically) Ohhhh, is that an important wrench? 
 John:  If it's the size you need it is.  
*****
 Me:  I have GOT to clean this pickup out for you.  
John: (offended) What do you mean?  
Me:  It is filthy.  
He leans down and pulls an ancient container of Armour-all sheets from beneath the seat, extracts one, and begins to swipe ineffectually at the dash.  When he is done there are now muddy swirls where there was simply a thick layer of dust before.  
John: (martyred) There. 

John has had to finish the combining without me and I really don't know how he managed (!).  Next week I hope to be back on the farm!  

October Beauty

September this year was characterized by shades of yellow with the abundance of sunflowers taking a starring role.  There were  yellowing leaves on many trees from the drought so that even the light took on a yellow-warmed hue as it filtered through all the shades of gold in plants and trees. 

October has brought some welcome touches of red.  With the exception of the photo of the Virgina Creeper, all the photos below were taken today:   

This photo of the five leafed vine called "Virginia creeper" was taken October 3. 

Sumac

Wild plum saplings

I don't know how people can say that Kansas is not beautiful.  They aren't looking in the right places, I suppose, but I think it is more likely that one's state of mind and preconceived ideas affect the ability to perceive beauty.  These next two photos are very pretty, but the real life scenes exceeded the beauty I was able to capture here by far: 

Indian Head Grass

Combine Driving Lesson

It is my goal to learn at least the basics of operating each piece of equipment on the farm. I'm not real interested in doing anything heroic like driving our temperamental dump truck to the elevator with a load of grain, but would nevertheless like to have the ability to do this if necessary.  My true motivation is that I consider myself to fill the role of  mother/wife/grammy-in-charge-of-safety-control.   I would like to possess the necessary skill to extract Farmer John from whatever part of a machine that might try to ensnare him when he's not looking.  

And lest you think safety control is not needed on our farm, consider that I once noticed my three-year-old son's eyebrows and eyelashes were missing in a way that looked very similar my dad's appearance after he attempted to light a temperamental furnace years ago.  When I asked Jonathan what happened he said, "Daddy said not to tell you."  


Anyway. 


Yesterday I had my first lesson in driving the combine. It looks so easy.  Push the ground speed lever forward to go, pull it back to stop.  Toggle the thumb switch up to raise the header up, down to lower it. Steer. That's pretty much all there is to it.  Of course, there are at least 20 other switches, pedals, and monitors that I have no idea what are for. It looks like the control panel of a lunar module to me. (I know what the inside of a lunar module looks like because I watched Apollo 13.)

My problem was with steering. In fact, while I was combining, a highway patrolman turned on his lights and siren and sped by on the highway that goes past the field where we were working.  I was relieved to see that the officer was after a speeding driver on the highway and wasn't interested in weaving combines.  For a moment I was sure I was about to experience my first sobriety test. 


Nevertheless, Farmer John said it was pretty good for my first time out.  I didn't tell him it was actually my third or fourth time driving the combine because he's obviously blocked those prior occasions from years past from his mind.  One does that with traumatic experiences.  

Here are a couple of the photos we took as I learned to run the combine:

I guess we do need auto steer.  Not sure who was driving as we posed for this photo.  Son-in-law Brian would be glad to sell us a brand new JD combine with GPS auto steer or whatever it is called.  We'd be glad to buy one if I didn't do things like quitting a paying job in order to become a farm hand and writing books that make no money.  Ah, well, the Lord is in control. 

I was too nervous to take my eyes off the header to look at the camera.  Nevertheless I did manage to slug the combine because of failing to slow down when I went over a terrace. The header adjusts automatically but needs a bit slower ground speed going over a steep terrace. 

'Til the Cows Come Home

We rent a pasture that's about three miles from our house.  Pasture season runs from April 15 until October 15, and so today we were a day late as we gathered 90 head of cattle from the half section pasture (that's 320 acres) and headed them down the gravel road toward home.  

Farmer John, son-in-law Brian, and I rode together to the pasture, making numerous stops along the way to close gates so our critters wouldn't be tempted to take the scenic route through the neighbors' pastures.  Son Jonathan and his wife, Nicole, went ahead of us to the pasture and were driving the cattle toward the gate in Jon's old blue pickup when we arrived.  Wonder if Nic had her seatbelt fastened?  If not I'm afraid she spent some time airborne. 

Nephews John Lee and Jacob parked their truck at the corner in order to turn the cattle, then once that mission was accomplished they sped around the section to get in front of us.  Their next job was to keep the cattle from going into a hay meadow that's just before the gate to the pasture we wanted them to enter.  

Grandpa Johnnie, (the original Farmer John) brought up the rear of the procession, herding an old girl who had rheumatism and thus couldn't jog along as fast as her comrades (see photo above). 

The main challenge to this journey was that the cattle had to be coaxed to cross an overpass that goes over an interstate highway.  Farmer John said, "At least the wind is out of the north so they won't be bothered by the highway noise until they are nearly to the overpass."  This wouldn't have occurred to me.  And then he added something else that I'd never have thought, "I hope no truckers honk.  One year one of them honked and got the cattle so upset it was terrible.  I thought they were going to leap over the guard rails and fall onto the highway." 

I was incredulous and said, "But, honking an air horn could cause the cattle to go wild and hurt one another or even one of us."

Farmer John looked grim.  "Exactly," he said. 

Brian hopped out at the overpass and stood ready to keep the cattle on the road in case they decided to run down toward the highway.  I drove the pickup and Farmer John rode in back, coaxing the cattle along.  Lured by his voice and the promise of corn chop as he rattled a feed sack, they followed  willingly.  Many of them had made this trip before.  

When about 30 head of cattle were in the middle of the overpass, sure enough, the driver of an eighteen wheeler pulled his air horn.  But whether the horn wasn't as loud as most or because the wind was blowing so hard, the cattle didn't react.  We made it home without further difficulty.  

I know most truckers are honorable and hard working folks who wouldn't willingly cause trouble for honorable and hard working farmers.  But there are evidently a few who don't mind indulging an impulsive action that could potentially cost us thousands of dollars if any of our cattle are  injured as a result of their prank. What's even worse is that 90 head of upset cattle have great potential to cause harm to their human handlers.  At one point today both my husband and my son-in-law were herding the cattle on foot. 

All's well that ends well, and it took just a little over an hour to bring the cattle home today.  Best of all, no one that I'm gonna love 'til the cows come home got hurt.  
****************
If the phrase "love ya' till the cows come home" isn't familiar to you, have a listen here--and if you don't want to take time to listen I'll just explain; this song includes the lyric, "I'm gonna' love her 'til the cows come home'":   "When I Get Home"  (From The Beatles, A Hard Day's Night Album, 1964). 

Shopping, Farmer Style

Farmer John spent an unreasonable amount of time at an implement dealer's yesterday  Yesterday afternoon John had to spend some time at J&W Equipment  in Iola, leaving me to wander around outside looking at a lot of farm equipment that was the wrong color (I said that in case my son Jonathan or son-in-law Brian happen to read this; they both work for John Deere. And for those who might not know: J&W's Case/IH equipment is red, while John Deere is green).


I had my camera slung over my shoulder as usual, and it was an absolutely beautiful day.  I started taking photos of shapes that caught my eye and as I did so I felt more and more impressed with the ingenuity behind the engineering of these forms.  Pretty cool.


Then, when I thought we were finally on the way home, Farmer John swung into New Strawn and spent an unreasonable amount of time and spent some time perusing the old and used equipment that has been prepared for the weekly sale to be held this Saturday morning.  The antique equipment caught my eye and while John enjoyed shopping (just because it isn't a mall doesn't mean it isn't shopping),  I found some more pretty shapes to photograph. 


Despite the fact I didn't accomplish very much on my to-do list It was a very nice day. 

auger from a brand new posthole digger 

antique dump rake

Even the shadow of this rake was pretty. 

Dontcha' love these curly cued shapes?

Rake teeth