It's that time of year again.
The time of year when one dons the traditional black and red rubber boots, loads up the wheel barrow with knapsack or whatever else one wishes to have carried 'out to the car' and proceeds to walk about a city block out to the the top of the road where the vehicle is parked for the duration of the melting and mudding process that takes place every year in our yard. It is only with great trepidation and dire need that we will drive closer to the house until the snow, water, slush, and deep sinking mud have disappeared for fear of tearing great ruts in the lane as well as risk having to be pulled out with a tractor.
This little night walk outside in the dark down our lane and around a corner into the persistent and ever present wind reminds me of the days when we had goats and sheep out in the barn and the trips in the spring every hour or so during lambing/kidding season.
The air has a special quality to it late in the evening and into the early hours of dawn . There is a stillness and even an unexplained unique smell in the air which does not exist any other time of the day. I would even bet that if one were to blindfold me and deny me access to what time it was in the day and walk me outside at 3:00 am I would be able to determine within a couple of hours the time on the clock by the stillness and aura in the air.
I wish I could find a poem or a piece of prose that adequately describes the process that a farmer must go through when checking on domestic animals on the verge of giving birth in the middle of the night.
Some of the words used would be the following:
Sleeping fully clothed.
Alarm ringing.
Quietly putting on boots, coat, and hat and opening the creaky outside door.
Cool Fresh Air awakens the senses.
Stars above and flashlight in hand.
Crunch of snow and ice underfoot.
Dog panting along side.
Startled momentary rustle as barn light is flicked on.
Smell of hay, manure, and animal scent.
Quiet gazes exchanged as scene is observed for unusual stance or isolation since the last visit.
Hushed accounting and quick glance at exits to ensure all are present.
Light flipped off...flashlight clicked on.
Quiet walk back to the darkened house.
Chilled air returns to pinch the face.
Coat, boots, flashlight deposited by door.
Soft steps back to the bed.
Alarm set for two hours hence.
Cold cheeks on soft pillow.
The time of year when one dons the traditional black and red rubber boots, loads up the wheel barrow with knapsack or whatever else one wishes to have carried 'out to the car' and proceeds to walk about a city block out to the the top of the road where the vehicle is parked for the duration of the melting and mudding process that takes place every year in our yard. It is only with great trepidation and dire need that we will drive closer to the house until the snow, water, slush, and deep sinking mud have disappeared for fear of tearing great ruts in the lane as well as risk having to be pulled out with a tractor.
This little night walk outside in the dark down our lane and around a corner into the persistent and ever present wind reminds me of the days when we had goats and sheep out in the barn and the trips in the spring every hour or so during lambing/kidding season.
The air has a special quality to it late in the evening and into the early hours of dawn . There is a stillness and even an unexplained unique smell in the air which does not exist any other time of the day. I would even bet that if one were to blindfold me and deny me access to what time it was in the day and walk me outside at 3:00 am I would be able to determine within a couple of hours the time on the clock by the stillness and aura in the air.
I wish I could find a poem or a piece of prose that adequately describes the process that a farmer must go through when checking on domestic animals on the verge of giving birth in the middle of the night.
Some of the words used would be the following:
Sleeping fully clothed.
Alarm ringing.
Quietly putting on boots, coat, and hat and opening the creaky outside door.
Cool Fresh Air awakens the senses.
Stars above and flashlight in hand.
Crunch of snow and ice underfoot.
Dog panting along side.
Startled momentary rustle as barn light is flicked on.
Smell of hay, manure, and animal scent.
Quiet gazes exchanged as scene is observed for unusual stance or isolation since the last visit.
Hushed accounting and quick glance at exits to ensure all are present.
Light flipped off...flashlight clicked on.
Quiet walk back to the darkened house.
Chilled air returns to pinch the face.
Coat, boots, flashlight deposited by door.
Soft steps back to the bed.
Alarm set for two hours hence.
Cold cheeks on soft pillow.
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