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Posts Tagged ‘adventures’

 

iStock_Farmer_field_farm-RGBFarm life, I was to learn, was comprised of work, work, and more work. When you have all variety of animals you are responsible for, there is no day that gives you license to fall out of bed at noon, stretch your arms over your head, and seat yourself at the kitchen table until your coffee gets cold. Each day you wake up early, get dressed, put some fuel in your belly and get after it. Hungry animals cannot wait for you to check how many likes you got on Instagram, or balance your chi with your yoga guru, or watch the news. It’s an entirely different way of life.

Observing my newly acquainted farm family coming together as a team was inspiring to me, still is. Each member worked selflessly for the common good of the whole. I have never thought of it as so before now, but I would suppose a farm, if managed well, may be the perfect socialist environment.

When no seasonal labor was present, three men made their homes on the property. Bob P., was the ring leader of the “boys”, as Chris referred to them, and the elder statesman at seventy five. He kept his clothes in the bunk house located on the far end of the property, a space he shared with additional labor when they were hired on. Bob J., his only son, (a daughter lived in Vancouver), occupied the main ranch house, and Chris, Bob J’s daughter and her husband Ray lived in a large ranch style house about a half a mile down the road. All three men in spite of the age disparity shouldered equal responsibility when it came to labor. I have to say, for a man showing a bit of wear, Bob P. seemed in amazingly good shape. Very little extra overlap showed above his belt line and his arms were still well muscled where visible below his shirt sleeve.

The only woman in attendance, or woman “fully grown” as they say in the south, was Chris. Chris was twenty-six. I knew this only because women of her age feel free to toss their age about like a puck at a hockey match. We older ladies tend to hold that number a little closer to the vest, answering when asked, “40ish”, when fifty is really knocking on the door.  Not to be excluded by any means, were the two youngest members of the clan, Chris and Ray’s daughters, Eva and Dawn, four and two and a half respectively.  All six of them managed an appropriate portion of the work according to age but not really gender.  It became quickly apparent when I came on board my being female didn’t exclude me from getting my hands dirty right along with the males in the group.

In rare moments of quiet, I grabbed the opportunity to take in the gorgeous countryside around me. Manitoba is a prairie province by definition, the land marked with long flat expanses, plateaus, lush soil, and an abundance of rivers and lakes. The front porch swing, often where I found myself after hanging up my hat for the day, allowed me an uninterrupted view of the front yard which stretched to the road and on forward to the horizon. I remember the quiet sitting there. No city noises to break the silence only the soft hum of insects hovering above the magnolia bush and the occasional whir of a farm machine firing up somewhere in the distance. There was something extremely satisfying about working that land.  Would I want to do it 24/7? Not I. Would I do it again for ten days? Tomorrow.

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Bob J. and I knew enough about each other from the numerous phone conversations and email correspondence we had shared to consider ourselves virtual “friends” before I arrived. This rubbed some of the newness off generally associated with meeting someone for the first time.  As we had gotten into our stories over the previous year, he had shared with me the loss of his wife, Anna after a three month bout with Stage 4 ovarian cancer. She had been forty-seven. They were high school sweethearts, married right after graduation. Chris, as I mentioned, was their only child. Anna, Bob told me, had wanted a large family but an emergency hysterectomy after Chris was born made that impossible. Accepting she was to have only one chick, she doted on her only daughter and the two had become very close. The loss of her mother when Chris was expecting her first grandchild had been devastating. Talking to him then, I had no idea I would find myself in a similar situation some twenty-five years later when I lost Rick, but life never reveals many hints of how your story is to unfold.

The first time Bob J. and I found ourselves alone was on my third day on the farm. After a busy morning at the feed and grain, then back to the main farmhouse for a quick lunch, I accompanied him to check on the cattle in the fields. Before Dawn would let me go, I had to promise a visit to her puppies as soon as we returned. For a while we drove quietly. No air conditioning in the truck cab, we rolled the windows down to get some air circulation. It was warm, but not hot outside and a lovely breeze played with the back of my neck. I asked about the cows, questions a person with little knowledge of cattle might need answered. “What do they eat”, “how do you bring them in from the pasture”, oh, and “do they bite”? He laughed when I asked if cows bite, telling me it would be unlikely a cow would bite a human but he wouldn’t suggest sticking my fingers in one’s mouth to test his theory. As we talked I found him very knowledgeable on a variety of subjects. Sometimes I think we tend to lump people under the heading of what they do, before finding out who they actually are. In his spare time, which I’m sure was little, he said he was an avid reader. This would account for the impressive library I’d noticed in the living room. I had also noticed there wasn’t a television. When asked if he had a TV he simply said, “never watch it”. I think that was the first time in years I spent ten days without picking up a remote, and I can’t think of a time I missed it.

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Bob got out and opened the gate leading into the nearest pasture. In the distance a loosely structured herd could be seen grazing near the fence line. I was fascinated by all the calves. I do love babies of all makes and models, and these were no exception. When we got close the cows gathered around the truck checking us out before we opened the doors. Reaching behind the seat Bob pulled out several heads of iceberg lettuce. Handing them to me he said, “give them this they will love you for it”. After several days around the herds they would follow the truck when I whistled out the window. He called me the “cow whistler”. I’m pretty sure it was the lettuce that sealed the deal but he was tell me later the cows appeared to still look for me for some time after I left. Who knew I had cow pheromones?

Checking on the new little ones and filling feeding troughs turned out to be an all afternoon affair getting us back at the main house around supper time. Walking into the now familiar kitchen I was surprised to find no pots on the stove and no tempting aromas to alert my stomach something delicious was on it’s way. Asking where everyone was (and the food??), Bob J. said he’d forgotten to tell me tonight was the night they were to spray the crops. This meant a late night and a barbecue at the campsite afterwards. If I was hungry it was suggested I make myself a sandwich to tide me over. Make? Myself? Funny how quickly one can adapt to being spoiled.  I have always been the one in the kitchen so it had been near bliss for me to have someone else take over the responsibility of meals for a few days. Don’t misunderstand me I love to cook, but even when you’re doing something you love it’s nice to take a break and do something else for a while. Fine. I really got a clear understanding of why men got married at that moment.

Around ten with the little ones tucked in with their grandfather along with another promise from me to see the puppies, Bob J., Claire, Ray and I once again headed out towards the fields. This time we weren’t there to tend to the cattle but rather to the crops planted along the fields farther out. These fields, Ray told me, were mostly geared towards hay and grain for the livestock but they did have several fields of corn and other cash crops as well. I inquired as to whether I should be worried about what they are spraying and got a vague answer in return. Uh-huh. Fortunately I sat high up in the enclosed cab of the tractor with Bob J. What an experience that was. At one point he needed me to drive the tractor while he directed me. Seriously? Are you insane? It took me three shots to get my learners permit. Good Lord. Somehow, either his excellent guidance or once again the business of God taking care of drunks and fools, I managed to edge the huge machine where I was directed without running over Bob J. or doing damage to anything in the immediate vicinity. The full moon shone brightly across the crops giving the spring evening a more fallish feel to it. After several hours ,with Chris and Ray working the other fields, we stopped for the day and made our way in a small caravan to what they referred to as the “campsite”. The campsite turned out to be a very large travel trailer, well equipped I have to say, in a clearing in the middle of the woods. A massive faded striped awning jutted out from the roof with four or five lawn chairs arranged beneath it. A fire pit occupied the center of the open space with rocks forming an irregular circular border. The first order of business was to spray ourselves with insect spray. Oh good, if I hadn’t picked up enough chemicals earlier in the night I surely would have risen to full capacity on this spraying. I could hear the insects buzzing around my ears so figured the spray was perhaps the lesser of the two evils.

Chris began removing covered bowls from the fridge, handing me a plate of hot dogs and one piled with pre-made hamburger patties to take out to “the boys”. Lanterns hung from several tree branches and a fire was crackling in the pit. The additional light illuminated Bob J. at a large barbecue behind a wooden picnic table. Chris and I laid a plastic cloth over the table. Between the two of us we carried out bowls of potato salad, macaroni salad, and tossed green salad as well as buns for the burgers and dogs and all the condiments. Yum. An uncut watermelon rested in a cooler filled with ice alongside several bottles of local wine which we took care of emptying before loading our plates.

What a wonderful way to end another great day. Driving back it was amazing how many stars decorated the night sky without the disruption of all the lights typical in more populated areas. My head hit the pillow around three am. Thankfully, we were allowed to sleep until nine due to the late night and I intended to do as I was told.

Day four would be a break in the action. I understood fishing was on the calendar, and of course those sweet puppies. Yay.

 

 

 

 

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