Animal News: The Chronicles of Newman and other Stories
Cussin' cooties
I'd wager that we all have to deal with unpleasant, even mildly revolting things from time to time. Anyone who lives with animals or has raised a baby has got some idea about those gross-out kodak moments. But wait, then there's farm life.
Last week I attended a most interesting conference held by the West Virginia University Extension program on grazing and pasture raising animals. Although I had "country convert" emblazoned across my forehead and all those real farmers looked askance at me, it was still nice to chew the cud with those who'd give me the time of day. Especially about mud. You just can't have good conversations about mud at the office. People don't understand, and then they start taking furtive glances at your shoes. My horse email list recently put out a poll about mud and the state of everyone's pastures, and believe you me, it was a hot topic with everyone wanting to confirm that everyone else was suffering equally in the ankle deep, boot-sucking sludge from which it appears that grass will never emerge again.
See, what people don't really think about when they think of farm life is getting up at 6:30 am and shoveling hundreds of pounds of soiled barn shavings, navigating around goats and horses who refuse to move from the shelter, half carrying the wheelbarrow in the driving rain through the inches-deep muck to dispose of the stuff, and while tipping over the barrow some of it escapes and makes a beeline for the inside of your boot, so then you're slogging back to the barn for the next load, wondering exactly what it was that just lodged itself right on top of your bare foot, periodically squished against your skin by the movement of the boot as you walk. Well, sir, whatever that stuff is, it has cooties. I'm talking the real thing here, not the stuff that pimply Timmy had in 7th grade. These are indomitable cooties. Mega cooties, Ur cooties, the very cootiness of cooties.
You can see why it's hard to carry on what most people would deem "normal" conversations with participants in the modern world, including (or most especially) coworkers at the office. Muddy shoes are only the tip of the iceberg.
Looking out at the wasteland I used to call my farm, and thinking of the forecast for yet more rain, I am put in mind of that old ditty they sang on "Hee Haw" --
Doom, despair, and misery on me
Deep dark depression, excessive misery
If it weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all
Doom, despair, and misery on me.
I ask of the kind folks who read this to do a ritual sun dance until the curse of the wet skies finds its way to another part of the globe. If you're not into dancing, we (ever the optimist!) are also accepting donations of bags of grass seed at this time (ryegrass and bluegrass or pasture mix).
Till next time if the creek don't rise,
Farmer Anne
Star Gazing Farm
http://www.stargazingfarm.org
© 2005 Star Gazing Farm, All Rights Reserved
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