A Sense of Urgency

Fall is here . . . autumn . . . call it what you will, but it has definitely arrived, despite what the calendar says.  Here in Olympia we went from 90 degrees and hazy skies to 60 degrees and thunderstorms in the span of a week.  The other night it dropped down to 38 degrees . . . brrr!

There is a sense of urgency about autumn.  There is a hurry up, get your butt in gear, state of being in September and October.  There is a dying off and a preparedness about it all.  There is a sense of pleasurable foreboding, I find, and I love this time more than any other.

The chimney needs to be cleaned; flashing needs to be attached, in places, on the roof.  Those gutters, ignored in June, can no longer be ignored.  Repairs to the animal housing must also be done ASAP.  In fact, ASAP seems to be the acronym of the day, for to delay too long means serious problems once the winter rains and snows arrive, and arrive they will.  Make no mistake about it, like taxes and death, they are approaching.

The chickens are molting, which reminds me that a drainage ditch to divert runoff still needs to be dug, not a big deal but just one more deal.

I’m tired just thinking about it all, but seventy years on this planet earns me the right to be a bit weary; also, though, I’m energized by it, because so much depends on my actions, and I like that.  It puts me in a place of importance, a key cog in the natural balance of our farming enterprise.

I get it.  I really do. I understand, today, the interdependence of it all . . . of us all . . . and I find comfort in that.  I am a shy, introverted, semi-hermit of a man who needs people, just as my birds need me for their survival, and I like that as well.  Without my wife, my son, and a handful of others, I am a disjointed human being looking for the Super Glue.  With them I am a functioning, participating, even contributing member of this race we call human.

So I’m getting ready for my seventieth fall, and then I’ll prepare for my seventieth winter, and on and on I’ll go until my days of preparation are over and I will finally arrive at the destination we all have in our sights from Day One.

A DEAD CHICKEN

I had to scoop one up from the driveway the other day.  It must have been too slow getting out of the way when someone’s car came down the driveway.  It happens.  Death is always close by for farm animals.

I doubt that chicken feared death.  Yes, chickens are nervous birds, but that nervousness is not born from a fear of death.  That’s giving chickens way more credit than they deserve. I do think, on some basic level, they understand how frail life is, but I would not subscribe to the theory that they fear death.

And I subscribe to that outlook.  I really don’t fear death.  That seems a bit silly to me.  There is either an afterlife or there is nothingness, neither of which seems frightening to me.  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not exactly looking forward to dying, but that is not because of fear . . . it’s simply because I’m enjoying the hell out of living and don’t want to leave this event called life.

So you see, me and the chickens have a lot in common.  Lol

See you soon!

Do all things with love!

Bill

It’s In My Heart

This will be a mishmash of random thoughts, so hang in there the best you can.

My first season as Board of Director’s President for the Tumwater Market is coming to an end. We have a month left for this season, and it has been an unprecedented success.  We are 68% above last year in sales, and we just sailed beyond the all-time sales record.  Not bad at all and no, I’m not taking much credit for that.  My job was to provide direction and be a cheerleader; the rest of the work was done by the vendors and Sarah, the market manager.

It has been an interesting experience and I look forward to next year.  I believe in farmers markets. I believe they are an integral part of a healthy community, and I sure hope I never see the day when community members no longer attend a local market. If you are reading this you must have some interest in local farms, and I’m assuming you understand the importance of supporting local farmers as they provide healthy foods for the community.

Anyway, I love it!

THE TO-DO LIST

Why is it that a to-do list never gets shorter?  Has anyone else noticed that truth? In fact, if you are into farming, either full-time or part-time like me, you might also notice that the to-do list does, in fact, get longer over time, never shorter.

I won’t bore you with a recitation of my list. Suffice it to say I have more than enough to do, thank you very much!

CHICKEN TOWN

I promised periodic updates on Chicken Town, so here’s one such update.

These photos show the progress we have made so far.  There is still work to do (duh!), but nothing we can’t handle in time.  I need to add trim to a couple coops, and add one more coat of paint.  I also have a couple cute ideas I may or may not do, and we need to name each coop because, after all, this is a town for chickens.  The biggest structure has already been named City Hall, and the smallest one is the Pro Shop, but that still leaves us with four to name.

The peacocks and guinea hens still eat too much of our chickens’ food, but short of shooting them I’m not sure how to stop that from happening.  Besides, the peacocks are just too damned pretty, so there’s that side of the argument to consider.

All’s quiet on the coyote situation.  We haven’t lost any hens in awhile. Maybe the new llama is providing protection.  Maybe it’s some other factor.  Most likely I’ll never truly understand the workings of nature, prey and the hunted.

And I’m fine with that.

And, of course, the dog in the picture is none other than our own Maggie May, doing her farm dog/herding thing, always vigilant, and always looking to stir up some trouble.  lol

A LITTLE HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE

It’s interesting, I think, that neither of my parents really liked farming.  Maybe they got too much of it as children in those Iowa corn fields.  Whatever the reason, Mom and Dad had zero desire to grow crops or raise animals.  And since I’m adopted, my love of farming is certainly not genetic in nature.  My biological parents were too busy drinking and getting into legal trouble to do any farming.  But love it I do, and love it I always will.

Is it hard work?  Yes!

Is it very profitable?  Hardly ever!

I’m reminded of a quote I heard awhile back:

“Too often, parents whose children express an interest in farming squelch it because they envision dirt, dust, poverty, and hermit living. But great stories come out of great farming.” Joel Salatin

And these song lyrics, by Dan Fogelberg:

“In the cities and towns there are millions who dream
But the traffic’s so loud that you can’t hear them scream
There’s a heaven on earth that so few ever find
Though the map’s in your soul and the road’s in your mind”

That’s what I think of when I think of farming . . . heaven on earth!  My grandfather, holding a handful of soil to his nose, smelling it, and telling me “This is life, Bill, and it’s my job, as a farmer, to respect that life.”

Bill….you can also find me on my other blog…check out this link