Thursday, June 20, 2013
Friday, June 14, 2013
Today at Iten's Acres: The Outlaws
The Outlaws:
The gang has been separated by technology. My neighbor put up an electric fence to make sure his little beagle doesn't get into the road and get hit. I can't blame him. Poor Stella--his beautiful black lab--lost her life to one of those speeding back road demons. So, this will keep the beagle safe.
It does mean the end of the gang. Bonnie stays away. Even brain-dead Gus has learned to keep his distance. The only slow learner has been the little beagle. I feel guilty--a little--because whenever I'm out walking or "working," she wants to run over and "help." Yowl!!!! Several times already. And there is an element of injustice here: the old huge brown lab that visits on occasion is impervious to the shock. She doesn't have a collar, so she just runs right through it like it's not even there, joins me for my walks, and keeps me company. Bonnie will join us once in awhile. The alpaca are scared to death of the lab and squeal--I don't know what else to call it--whenever she's with me out back in the meadow. Protective Bonnie comes racing to the rescue, but when she sees who it is, she just joins us, tail wagging, completely out of guarding mode. Hats off to Gus. Sorry little beagle. Welcome Big Brown. Let's walk, shall we?
The gang has been separated by technology. My neighbor put up an electric fence to make sure his little beagle doesn't get into the road and get hit. I can't blame him. Poor Stella--his beautiful black lab--lost her life to one of those speeding back road demons. So, this will keep the beagle safe.
It does mean the end of the gang. Bonnie stays away. Even brain-dead Gus has learned to keep his distance. The only slow learner has been the little beagle. I feel guilty--a little--because whenever I'm out walking or "working," she wants to run over and "help." Yowl!!!! Several times already. And there is an element of injustice here: the old huge brown lab that visits on occasion is impervious to the shock. She doesn't have a collar, so she just runs right through it like it's not even there, joins me for my walks, and keeps me company. Bonnie will join us once in awhile. The alpaca are scared to death of the lab and squeal--I don't know what else to call it--whenever she's with me out back in the meadow. Protective Bonnie comes racing to the rescue, but when she sees who it is, she just joins us, tail wagging, completely out of guarding mode. Hats off to Gus. Sorry little beagle. Welcome Big Brown. Let's walk, shall we?
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Backroads of Morrow County: Beginnings
Backroads of Morrow County Update:
It has begun. The farmer's reward and risk. The winter wheat is several inches high. Still green--not enough time and sun yet for "amber waves of grain." But it can't be too long. I'm sure I can hear the wheat singing in the wind. "O, beautiful for spacious skies . . ." Most of the other fields show evidence of crops too. I say "most" because a few fields are still not plowed--notably, the one across the way from me. The agricultural engineer who plows it usually does it "late" so I'm not worried. Last year corn. This year I expect soy beans. Everywhere else--almost--the long green lines of plants are racing toward the horizons. The corn is distinctive. There's no doubt what it is. The soy beans not so much. I assume that it's soy beans though now it merely looks like small green patches of "weedy" stuff stretching off into the distance. They are not yet big enough to "connect." They look like fields of green polka dots at this point. But before you know it, they will be cords of green.
The only wild flowers along the roads are wild phlox, daisies, and sweet pea. Pink and white borders nodding "welcome" as I drive past. The "doormats" of dusty roads. The doves have already committed themselves to wire sitting. The swallows are practicing their wind skimming. No doubt already gathering lunch for the kids. The blue birds grace the open meadows with an occasional meadowlark to add some yellow and black--and a song. The red-wings are everywhere--the neighborhood fussing crones. The red-headed woodpeckers are in their usual haunts. Red, black, and silver-white they are always a feast for my eyes. An occasional goldfinch will arc his way across the road, just showing off I imagine--like most males. The bird life of Morrow County is in full swing--or should I say full wing. Gorgeous, for sure.
Surprisingly, the wet spring has led to some early haying. I saw an older man, a younger man, and a boy at work in the field down the road from me. History at work. Grandpa, son, grandson making a team. The boy was too small to be of much help, but the knowledge of generations was, no doubt, being filtered down to him. Not much help, but probably the most important person in the field. The knowledge of good farming is being passed down, and the lad is our hope. May he see joy in the labor and nourish a love for it. Grandpa--as this grandpa knows--is not as strong as he once was at the work, but he has the "tricks and resolution" to pass on Santiago-like to the "boy" that he loves. Dad--son--is the evidence that grandpa knows what he's doing and is worthy of emulation in this labor of love for the land, the animals who will feast on the hay, and the farmers who earn their living--and ours--in the historical story of mankind's relationship to his "place on earth" as Wendell would call it. As I watch them, a favorite quote comes to mind: "Simplicity carried to extremes is elegance." Not to mention lovely in its generational way.
Yep, it has begun. Rural America, Adam-like, facing the hardships of life, at the mercy of the weather, learning the beauty and character building of hard work--and the joy of family.
It has begun. The farmer's reward and risk. The winter wheat is several inches high. Still green--not enough time and sun yet for "amber waves of grain." But it can't be too long. I'm sure I can hear the wheat singing in the wind. "O, beautiful for spacious skies . . ." Most of the other fields show evidence of crops too. I say "most" because a few fields are still not plowed--notably, the one across the way from me. The agricultural engineer who plows it usually does it "late" so I'm not worried. Last year corn. This year I expect soy beans. Everywhere else--almost--the long green lines of plants are racing toward the horizons. The corn is distinctive. There's no doubt what it is. The soy beans not so much. I assume that it's soy beans though now it merely looks like small green patches of "weedy" stuff stretching off into the distance. They are not yet big enough to "connect." They look like fields of green polka dots at this point. But before you know it, they will be cords of green.
The only wild flowers along the roads are wild phlox, daisies, and sweet pea. Pink and white borders nodding "welcome" as I drive past. The "doormats" of dusty roads. The doves have already committed themselves to wire sitting. The swallows are practicing their wind skimming. No doubt already gathering lunch for the kids. The blue birds grace the open meadows with an occasional meadowlark to add some yellow and black--and a song. The red-wings are everywhere--the neighborhood fussing crones. The red-headed woodpeckers are in their usual haunts. Red, black, and silver-white they are always a feast for my eyes. An occasional goldfinch will arc his way across the road, just showing off I imagine--like most males. The bird life of Morrow County is in full swing--or should I say full wing. Gorgeous, for sure.
Surprisingly, the wet spring has led to some early haying. I saw an older man, a younger man, and a boy at work in the field down the road from me. History at work. Grandpa, son, grandson making a team. The boy was too small to be of much help, but the knowledge of generations was, no doubt, being filtered down to him. Not much help, but probably the most important person in the field. The knowledge of good farming is being passed down, and the lad is our hope. May he see joy in the labor and nourish a love for it. Grandpa--as this grandpa knows--is not as strong as he once was at the work, but he has the "tricks and resolution" to pass on Santiago-like to the "boy" that he loves. Dad--son--is the evidence that grandpa knows what he's doing and is worthy of emulation in this labor of love for the land, the animals who will feast on the hay, and the farmers who earn their living--and ours--in the historical story of mankind's relationship to his "place on earth" as Wendell would call it. As I watch them, a favorite quote comes to mind: "Simplicity carried to extremes is elegance." Not to mention lovely in its generational way.
Yep, it has begun. Rural America, Adam-like, facing the hardships of life, at the mercy of the weather, learning the beauty and character building of hard work--and the joy of family.
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