Farm Life

For the past week, we’ve enjoyed some of the most glorious weather I can recall. Crisp lows in the 40s at night, yielding to low 70s during the day, as dry as Peter O’Toole’s wit and as gorgeous as a granddaughter’s eyes. We made the most of the weekend.

Jinx and I took several walks each day, and he roamed farther and freer that usual, stopping to look back at me just as he would disappear over a ridge or down into a hollow. He wore himself slap-dab out every day and slept like a pharaoh each night

Mrs. Orr and I ventured down to a nearby city to visit a nursery we’d patronized some years ago. A sprawling family business, the nursery is well-stocked and homey, the staff are helpful and cheerful, and the prices are surprising. Surprising as in “Why would anyone pay the inflated prices at a Lowe’s or a Home Depot for inferior plants when this place is in operation?” We spent way more than we’d planned but everything looks great. Which reminds me…I need to water the phlox before bedtime. Haven’t had time to plant them yet.

The flowers and plants in our woods are leaping to full life. What was brown and barren just weeks ago is now so alive with greenery and blossoms, the ground seems to be moving. Here’s a patch of Virginia bluebells adjacent to an old moss-covered log.

The dogwoods didn’t blossom out in time for Easter, but they’re on their way now, the little mysteries with their Christ-lore and their reverent shape.

Up in the south pasture, Jinx and I were poking along, looking at plants and watching clouds, and we approached the bush hog deck my neighbor left in the field last fall when he mowed my pasture for the hay. As soon as we got near the deck, Jinx lost his spotted mind and began barking and running around the deck, trying to get under it, getting stuck halfway in, then retreating and circling to the other side to try again. The word that went through  my  mind was skunk, and I reached for the spotted menace’s collar, because I do not want to go through that again. When I pulled him back, I heard something rustle beneath the deck. Holding Jinx as tightly as I could, I peeked under the machinery. A rabbit with her clutch of a half-dozen babies were under there, boiling all over each other in the attempt to get away from the fangs of my very eager and very determined dog. The dog who at that moment yanked away from my grip and dived under the deck again.

I had no leash with me, and I knew I couldn’t walk Jinx all the way back home holding onto his collar and bent forward at the waist, so I did what any good patriarch does. I took off my belt.

Just then, the mother rabbit sprang out from beneath the bush hog deck and ran straight at Jinx, sacrificing her life for her offspring. Jinx was as surprised as I was, and he froze. I reached down at that instant and stuck the buckle end of the belt under his collar, then managed to poke the free end through the loop and pull back. By that time, Jinx had recovered from his shock, but when he lunged, my belt/leash held him tight. He bucked and pulled, but I had him good. The little mama rabbit dived back beneath the deck. I wrapped the belt around my fist until I had the dog close to me, and then I pulled him over to a pile of bricks, fetching a paver and blocking the largest of the spaces under the deck’s edge. I got another and blocked the other space, and now there was no way Jinx could get beneath. I started for home, pulling him along with me. As soon as he saw that he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one, he shrugged (and yes, Jinx does shrug) and trotted along with me. Not a rabbit died.

I did my first full mowing of the season on Sunday, because it was perfect weather and because the grass was starting to get unmanageable in places. It was a fine time out there, bouncing in the seat and smelling the watermelon scent of fresh clippings and watching the birds search among them for treasure.

Just a little while ago this evening, Jinx began barking like a hellhound at the same time a loud moo sounded from the front yard. Peeking out, I saw a large cow standing in the driveway. I didn’t want Jinx to scare this one the way he scared the last cow and her calf — the poor calf somersaulted over the fence and landed hard on his back on the hard ground — so I left him inside, grabbed my bb gun (a sting from a bb does wonders to discourage a cow intent on eating the flowers) and stepped outside.

I got about fifty yards out when the cow turned to face me. That’s when I realized that this was no cow. It was an enormous, pissed off bull. He stared at me. I stared at him. I popped a bb in his direction. He lifted his snout and let loose a bellow that would have done a brontosaurus proud. And then he took two steps towards me.

I became aware of the bull’s size. Of his enraged eyes. Of the smallness of the peach tree next to which I was standing. Of my arthritic joints compared to his prime beef ones. I became aware of the desire to de-Orr the area in a rapid fashion. The bull bellowed at me again, and took a few more steps towards me.

Just then, a fellow who lives on a nearby farm happened to drive down our gravel road and saw what was going on. He turned down our driveway and opened the door of his pickup. His wife said something to him. Then the bull looked straight at my neighbor and roared. The man withdrew his leg and closed the door.

We were at a standoff for a few minutes, then the enraged bull turned and slowly began making his way off our property, headed for the road. The farmer got out of the truck.

“I saw what was happening, and was gonna get a stick and help you run him off. But then he bawled at me and I decided I’d better stay put.”

“I think that was wise,” I said.

“That thang looks plumb crazy,” he said.

I agreed. We talked a bit more about bulls and then the farmer waved and said goodbye. He knows the owner of the bull and I knew he would call him.

A little while ago, I took JInx out into the back yard for his pre-bedtime bathroom break. Way down in the holler, I saw someone with a truck and a spotlight. The bull was in the spotlight, and the driver of the truck was yelling at the bull.

Farm life. It can so easily be farm end-of-life. So many things that are red in hoof and eye.

But so much beauty.  I’ll take my chances with angry bulls before I’ll stand in line in a Starbucks or a professional athletic event. At least the dangerous animals I encounter aren’t willfully sinful or malicious. At least they don’t do what they do for money or because some agitator incites them to it.

~ S.K. Orr