HOME ALONE

Which means I’m here in charge of approx. 50 cows, 4 chickens, and a highly creative watering system. But the sun is shining and I think I’m okay. When we conceived this idea, the farm thing, we were living in a condo in the Pearl District of Portland, being very urban and sophisticated. Larry had recently retired and we were looking for a project that could be a meaningful in a Nature Conservancy sort of way. While Larry has been a successful businessman, and served as board member of various organizations, that is not a contribution to the social good I am capable of offering. Can’t go to meetings, fund-raisers, meet important people. You get it. So.

We didn’t intend to build a home here, not at first. I’d imagined that the project would be a way for us to find something to do together. Shoulder to shoulder, shovels in both of our hands. And in the beginning, that’s how it was. Out in the field pulling tansy ragwort, clipping thistles, pulling brush, and working all the permitting details with the county organizations in charge of building the little cottage we’d forseen. For weekend use. At least, I think that’s how Larry saw it. Didn’t take me long to mentally move in, however, getting back to my roots.

As time went by, we did, in fact, build a house and move in. Sold the condo, and began to define our roles here on “the Wood” a little separately. Larry took charge of operating large machinery, sawing downed trees, managing the water systems. Guy stuff for sure. I moved into the kitchen, managing the flow of produce from the garden, doing laundry, and etc.

See what I mean? Laundry. Anyway, now here I am, today, and so far, no drama. Just a little story, though. Yesterday I glanced out the kitchen window and saw this guy strolling by:

All by himself. This is not a pasture, he doesn’t belong here. I got Ryan (cow guy)’s phone number and called. He said he’d send someone right over. And soon enough a red pickup with a couple of cowboys showed up down by the split gates across the driveway. I heard lots of hollering — the cowboys, though the cows were bellowing, too — and soon the whole herd had gathered by the pickup. Then one of the men left to, I assume, learn how the bad boy had gotten out. I couldn’t see anything for awhile, and decided to go take care of the chickens while I waited.

When I came back inside, the truck was gone, and the entire herd had been moved across the driveway to the west pasture. I assumed they’d corralled the lone cow, but, water always on my mind, thought I should go down to the pump and make sure the water had been adjusted for this move. Took the ATV down, and caught up with one of the men who told me what had happened. Seems a tree branch had fallen across the fence somewhere along the west perimeter, thus breaking the power to the electric wire fence. The lost cow just strolled through somewhere. Don’t worry, he said, he was on his way to collect a power saw and would be back to sort things.

I’m so impressed with Ryan and his people. I know that someone checks on those animals every day, and of course they’d have the watering system under control. Still. Glad I could help!

This morning on my early walk I noticed one of the wild turkeys nesting in a pile of bark dust by the garden. As I got near, she lofted herself to her feet to expose 8 or 9 babies. She walked into the tall grasses and they tumbled behind her into the grass as well. Then, to my surprise, she left them and ran across the road in front of me. A quick trip to Google and I learn that the chicks are called poults, that the hens actively protect their young for several months. I assumed she walked in front of me to deflect attention from the babies, but I tried to take a photo of them anyway. Unsuccessful.

And now I have all kinds of time to myself. Can always practice. Last lesson, Tim suggested I try to find banjo tab for Ashokan Farewell, a song Larry has fallen in love with on his guitar. It’s a plaintive, haunting melody, dating from the Civil War, basically a fiddle tune, but so far I can’t find an arrangement I like for banjo. Don’t usually associate the more raucous 5-string finger-picking banjo with haunting, plaintive melodies, but, I have all day to find something. Right?

And there are books to read. Next BOTM Club is The Names, by Knapp. “. . . the painful ripple effects of domestic abuse . . .” “emotional, gut-wrenching power . . .” Why did I pick this one? Not in the mood right now for gut-wrenching power, but mustn’t be critical when I haven’t read the thing. Maybe is really will be “a modern classic.”

Nope. My latest trip to the library produced another Robert Crais, and, thanks to an on-going conversation with Peter about Lonesome Dove, I picked up another of McMurtry’s books, Sin Killer. We’ll see. Meanwhile, there’s Don’t Know Much About Geography, which I cherry-picked from a stack of Larry’s to-the-GoodWill volumes. It’s surprisingly fun, and, of course, informative. To recognize, for example, how much information about the world was delayed in European, Catholic countries trying to use the Bible as a source of mapping information.

And there’s my knitting project. Not going that well, but I’m soldiering on. I hope to have it done by tomorrow evening, when I can turn some of the keys back over to Larry. And, upon his arrival, I hope to pursue my new-found interest in my long-abandoned golf game. Jenny just sent a text with a photo, in which she and Tom won first place in a club tournament, earning $400 for the team. I asked if that made her a professional, having won money, but she said her share was only $100, so wouldn’t count in any legal sense.

I amuse myself, but won’t bore you with the various attempts to feed myself while home alone. It is a trial, but there are lots of obscure bits and lumps out in the garage freezer which provide challenges. I’m on it, and going out to a local farm/store/restaurant with friend Marjorie this evening. All good!