the way things are

How sweet the memory of those spring days, when Ed and I worked so hard to bring the farmette to her full potential! When the cheepers would follow us everywhere we worked, because with all that digging, we were bringing up a bounty of worms for them! I'd come up with a shovelful and distribute the poor worms to Scotch and Butter, Whitney and Oreo.

Such good days they were!

This morning dawned clear and blue again and we were a tad late in getting out to let the cheepers out. I, of course, said -- you go. He said -- come with me. So, reluctantly, I wrapped myself in the sleeping bag and we trudged out. It really is pretty in these earliest hours of the morning.


















( a tiny daylily! in October!)



Oreo wont care, he'll leave you alone -- famous last words. True, Oreo ignored me coming out, but as we passed the gang on our way back to the farmhouse, he lunged and had a very ineffective battle with my sleeping bag.

Sigh...

And yet, at breakfast...






...I felt less disturbed by this. You could say -- ah, she's getting used to violence. No! But I sort of get what's going on. And yes, I know that this is an uphill struggle -- to get him to calm down again, in the way that he had calmed down for all of the summer, toward me, toward everyone. It's become obvious that Oreo can't really hurt me. And sure, perhaps in the future, I wont be able to trust him with others (little others, for example) and so if he doesn't calm down, he'll have to go. But even though he is not a little irritating right now, I'm thinking -- if I can give him a few moments (months? years?) of life, then that's a good thing, no?



(the brown tones of late Fall)


I worked on my various writing projects inside most of the day, despite the sunshine, the brilliant weather -- I had inside stuff to do.

But toward the end of the day, Ed and I went out to tackle the multiflora roses that grow to the side of the courtyard. I'd always disliked them -- they grow like a prairie fire and they spread, invade and destroy everything in their path, including the person who tries to remove them. But, with Ed, the best strategy is containment rather than removal and so I'd worked to trim rather than dig. But in my absence, Ed did volunteer work on prairie restoration on some trail or other and he learned there the viciousness of this particular plant and so now he is on board: these guys have to go.

It was a tough set of minutes. Even our anti-brambler protective clothing can't fully shield us from the vicious thorns. And the roots! Oh, the roots!

We dig, clip, heave and of course, in the process, move much soil. And the cheepers see the commotion and they come to where we are working and honestly, it is like old times. All four of them settle into scratching the loosened soil for worms and other goodies. And Oreo, satisfied with just a few plump worms, sits back and watches us all work and I think -- yes, he deserves his happy time of watching over the hens. They're all in it together. This is what they are. (Even as I know that tomorrow, I'll still feel the frustration of needing the protective sleeping bag and it will take more than a day or two to get him to fully relax... if indeed, he can ever relax again.)






In the evening, Ed and I are at the public hearing again, where I speak in favor of marshlands over development. It strikes me, as I bring up the plight of the disappearing gentian flower, the muddy waters of the springs feeding into our lake, how much easier it is to just ignore these small losses. A flower. A super annoying rooster. And yet... Yeah, there's the 'and yet.'