Planted two rows of potatoes yesterday–a red potato and a Yukon gold. It was a little wet, but we had cut the seed potatoes on Saturday and wanted to get them in the ground before it rained.
Month: March 2017
Afternoon Surprise
When I got home this afternoon, I heard a sheep bleating in the back yard. At first, I thought one of ours had gotten out, though it sounded like a lamb, whereas we have no lambs yet. When I went up, sure enough there was a lamb, maybe 3 or 4 months old. Not sure where she came from, but there she was, bigger than life. She was friendly, following me around, but not getting too close.
Imagine my my surprise when I looked in the barnyard and then saw a pig. We have never had a pig, though we often keep bacon on the premises.
The pig and the lamb (currently known as Laurel and Hardy) seem to get along very well, as long as they have separate feeding bowls. They are spending the night in Ramshackle, which is the fenced and sheltered area we kept Mac, our ram, until we sold him last week.
The fact that they showed up at the same time and seem to get along, makes me believe they arrived together. What confounds me is that I found the lamb in the yard and the pig in the barnyard, which means that one of them had to get past two fences with latched gates. One of the fences is five feet tall and very formidable–none of our dogs has ever gotten over or under that fence.
Some of you might recall that another lamb, Sophie Walker, showed up a couple of years ago. Try as we did, we never found her owner. Now a lamb brings a pig–or perhaps it is a pig on the lam.
Anyway, if I was the type to think the universe is sending us messages, I might think we need to operate a home for wayward livestock. Or I might think we need to eat more bacon.
Control of Nothing
This was one of those days when the universe reminds me that I am in control of nothing. After feeding this morning, my “plan” was to write for an hour, then do some grading, then leave at 9:00 for school and listen to “On Point” with Tom Ashbrook, my favorite radio show, on the way to school. I had meetings at 10:30, 11:00, and 1:00.
I took the dogs to the barn for one last whizz about 8:45, and that’s when I saw the pig-that-is-not-our-pig in barnyard, and all the goats and sheep standing around the fence-line with a horrified look, like someone had just farted in church.
Then the pig-that-is-not-our-pig took a big whizz, and I realized, judging from where the stream originated, that she is a he–assuming that pigs have roughly the same anatomy as other barnyard animals. I looked around and found where the pig-that-is-not-our-pig had gotten through two fences, patched those holes, got some grain and opened the pasture fence to coax the pig-you-know-what-I-mean back to Ramshackle, where he/she belongs.
As soon as I opened the gate and shook the grain, all the sheep-n-goats darted for it. Two full-grown does, two four-day old kids, and three very pregnant ewes stampeded. The pig was still whizzing.
That’s when I saw that Clara, one of our does, was about to give birth. I waved goodby to Tom Ashbrook for the day, and got out the electric fence to bolster the regular fence, since I didn’t want the pig-etc-et-era to get back into the barnyard and possibly harm the new kid or at the very least freak out the sheep-n-goats.
It took about twenty minutes to set up the electric fence, during which time Clara went from having drippy stuff, to having a foot emerge, to having a full fledged kid on the ground. If humans were born that easily, there would be 30 billion people on the planet.
But now it was 9:45, and my 10:30 meeting was toast. I came to the house, tried to call the person I was supposed to meet, and finally got voice mail. I went back to the barn, tried to dry off the new kid, and go to school, but I had goat afterbirth on my jacket and pants (you gotta love the farm) and thought, “It’s just a division meeting.”
Back and forth to the barn two or three times, cause I’m worried about the pig breaking out and terrorizing the sheep-n-goats, and it’s getting later and later. I call and move my 11:00 meeting to 12:00. At 11:05 I’m ready to go when I see that Clover (one of the goats) is hiding in the trees, afraid to go back to the barnyard because of the pig.
I tell her about the electric fence, but you can’t reason with a scared goat. It’s starting to rain, and goats hate rain, but she’d rather suffer rain than the possibility of a pig. I take out my cell phone and show her radar images of approaching thunderstorms from Weather.com, to no avail. Finally, I say, “Okay, you’re on your own, dammit.”
I trudge to the house, feeling bad about leaving Clover, though she can get to to barn any time from where she is. It’s now 11:20, and I will be 5 minutes late for the meeting I already put back an hour. When I get in the truck, I look down and see that I’m still wearing my afterbirth jacket.
I have control over nothing.
Accepting that, I feel better.