Thursday, June 21, 2018

Back to my real job

Patience is the art of hoping.
                 Luc de Clapiers


Sometimes, I forget that I live on a working farm. It is true that every morning I go out and check our cows. We have a little visit and I ask if they have stayed out of trouble since the last time I saw them. They always say yes. Oh, yes I think we all do that.


My point being, that I post a lot about wandering around in the bush and taking photos of the beauty and the unusual things that surround me. That will not change. I also post about things I do when I have to head to town. I finally found off-farm interests and friends that I love to spend time with and classes that I love.


I am pretty sure you know that I am a writer. And, that I probably spend way too much time on my butt, looking out the kitchen window at what needs to be done. This does not mean that I do not have a semi-full time job here on the farm. After all, I was a farmer first, and I suppose that is my “real” job. What am I saying? It is my real job, there is no suppose about that.

It is now the time of year when I have to kick into high gear and let the recreational parts of my life fall to the wayside. Yes, indeed, the lolly-gagging and festivities of my life are on hold….well…..as long as the weather cooperates.


It is haying time again.


The other morning when we looked out the window, the grass and tractors were dripping with heavy dew. This is always a good thing for my gardening friends out there. Not so great, for the farmer who has fluffy thick hay laid out in perfect beautiful rows waiting to be turned over (raked). That would be where my job kicks in.


This morning as I write this there is not one drop of moisture on anything. I am excited about the hours I will be spending on the tractor raking hay. My Hero laid it out so nicely for me. If we are lucky, the hay will be raked, the sun and wind will do its work, and by the time he gets home tonight, he will be able to bale. That is the plan.

The weatherman predicted that it would not rain till Saturday. That gives us two days to get it all made into beautiful round bales that our cows will need for the winter. That is the plan.

Excuse me while I answer a text coming in on my phone. It is My Hero.
“It is spitting rain in town”.

Nooooooooo.



Wish us luck. This new development just goes to show me that the weatherman knows as much about what is going on as we do.
If you are looking for me, listen for the hum of the tractor and the ting tinging of the rake teeth.

It is true that you can have your cake and eat it too. As long, as the weather says so.


Later