A Month on the Farm

Originally I was going to write a day on the farm, then a week, and lo now it has become a month on the farm.  The summer has not slipped away except insofar as writing is concerned.  Daily tasks can sometimes take on a life of their own even the relatively simple task of collecting eggs each morning.  How, you may wonder?  Imagine a year and a half of bringing in a half dozen or so eggs first thing in the morning and then a couple more trips to produce almost two dozen eggs per day suddenly being reduced to one or none.  Then begins the anxiety of discovering the reason for this shortage and when one discovers cannibalism has struck the fold sleepless nights ensure in attempt to stop or curb the habit.  All to no avail.  Then resignation sets in, then resentment and one swings between the two emotions until the thought of The Colonel almost becomes a walking nightmare for the farmer as well as the chickens.

Meanwhile the rains come and the vegetable garden begins to prosper.  One bright morning the farmer walks out to her field to discover the deer have played havoc with the winter’s harvest.  Creative begins with netting, sticks, rods, stones and so forth to set up a barrier of protection for the remaining sprigs of lettuce, radish and slow growing carrots.  A walk to the other side of the garden to inspect the fruits causes another stab to the heart as the deer have nibbled the berry bushes to a stub.  No cherries, blueberries or strawberries this year.  The new apple trees have had a similar fate but the tops are still green and hope struggles to stay alive.

In the greenhouse the cabbage butterfly has nibbled the cabbages to death but the peppers and tomatoes are unscathed.  The pumpkins, like last year, bloom madly on but no fruit appears despite a constant supply of water and anxious watching for bees to pollinate.  Again hope burns eternal as the zucchini appear to be prospering.  No flowers yet but the leaves are strong and healthy.  Potatoes begin to bloom and young potatoes are only weeks away.

This is the life of an apprentice farmer experiencing a first true summer of “farming”.  While my heart is sad for farmers whose livelihoods are destroyed by Mother Nature in all its forms and while experience all the disappointment of finding hard hopeful work destroyed overnight by pretty little animals I strive to keep my sense of humour alive.  So this is why farmers are always complaining?  Pshaw, after all, there’s always next year.