The other day I wrote about harvesting here on The Farm. We are not farmers, but we are OF the farm. Years ago we chose to live in the country. We wanted a quiet life. ‘
We wanted serenity. An absence of sirens tearing the air.
We wanted calmness.
We wanted to look across lush fields instead of harsh concrete.
We wanted to hear the rain falling.
And bird song.
We wanted the country.
We found it all on The Farm.
Our neighbors are the farmers. Their’s is the responsibility of this dairy farm and its success. And like good friends and neighbors they look out for us, and we look out for them.
Being OF the farm we help a little here and there. We don’t look after the cows but when our neighbors are away My Good Husband takes care of Summer ( a magnificent thoroughbred ) and Mocha (the wonder dog.
He moves Summer to her paddock. He mucks out here stall. He feeds her oats and hay. He enjoys every minute of this opportunity to care for this wonderful creature. Summer is firmly convinced I grow carrots solely for her. She waits at the paddock gate when I come from the garden. Her velvet nose and mouth takes the smallest of carrots carefully from my hand. Summer has another name. Princess. When her Girl is away (the girl in the seven league riding boots) she misses her dreadfully, and only an extra measure of oats makes her a little bit happier.
Then there’s Mocha the dog. Half Great Pyrenees half Labrador – one hundred percent loving. She is the smartest and funniest dog it has been my privileged to meet. It is Mocha’s job to look after every one who lives on the farm. She loves playing and gives us all endless hours of enjoyment (much to her pleasure). What is not to love about this dog. She has other names … Mooks and Mooky Dog and countless terms of endearment.
Life on the farm is about the daily rhythms of operating a dairy farm.
Our neighbor’s truck slipping quietly down the road to the Home Farm for the 4 a.m. milking.
It is about stopping at the Home Farm to pick up fresh eggs.
It’s about watching the pair of American Bald Eagles nesting at the bottom of the field. They were there before we arrived and that is 13 years ago.
Sipping a glass of wine on the patio watching rabbits hopping unconcernedly past.
It’s being able to watch the night sky and a spectacular meteorite shower away from light pollution.
It is the sound this summer of the whispering, gossiping corn. Could you ask for anything more?