Memorial Day...

My father was a WWII veteran. When I was a child he was an active member of the American Legion, and as such, every year he helped decorated the graves in our small-town cemetery of those who had served in the military. It was my great delight to join him, from the time I was very small. He would slather me up with bug spray, because the mosquitoes were always fierce, and we'd drive to the graveyard in his convertible. Weather permitting the roof was down, and the wind would whip my long hair across my face and eyes, smarting. I didn't care.  My legs, under shorts, would stick to the sun-warmed leather seats, and I can still remember how the car smelled of Half and Half pipe tobacco. Inside the trunk would be boxes filled with small American flags, neatly rolled. I would help carry them, and by the time I was 8 or 10, I could remember where most of the veterans final resting places were, "Where is ____?" my dad would question, and I'd say, "He's the one covered up in the old spruce!"  I'd dip and bend, crawling under the heavy branches and tucking a flag in front of the obscured stone. Or, "He is the one up that path on the top of the hill." Dad would smile and hand me a flag, probably glad to let my little legs do the running over the stone studded acres.

On Memorial Day he would put his old  uniform on, and it still fit.  He'd leave early, but soon after, my mother, siblings and I would walk down the long dirt driveway, and to the end of our street, where neighbors would already be gathered.  After a short wait we'd hear the sound of the local marching band, and sirens. The fire trucks, shined up and boasting flags, would lead the parade. A police car, with it's blue bubblegum light on the roof, would sound its keening cry as it approached.  Convertibles with veterans too elderly to walk the parade route would wave as they drove by.  Troops of Brownies, Girl and Boy Scouts straggled along. Solemn Legion Members marched, the color guard holding tall flags. My father and some other men would carry rifles over their shoulders. One year when I was very small, dad silently extended his hand and let me march alongside him. I was gobsmacked.  When my legs got tired, impossibly tall Mr. Hopping, dapper in his sailor uniform and stark white Dixie cup hat, lifted me to his shoulder. The view was incredible.

The parade would wind through the ancient iron gates of the cemetery, with the townspeople in tow. A hush would fall. There would be a few short speeches, interrupted by the sound of kids slapping at mosquitoes, and the occasional baby crying. The local pastor would say a prayer.At some point my father and some other men would fire off their rifles. The children would scurry to pick up the hot brass cartridges that landed at the men's feet. They smelled sharp and were hot enough to burn a soft, small hand. I still have one in my jewelry box.  Next a member of the band would step forward and play taps on their bugle.  From up in the woods the notes were hauntingly echoed back by a hidden musician. I would feel a chill that started at the top of my head and rushed down my spine.

Afterwards relatives would come to our house, and we would have hotdogs and burgers on the grill. There would be deviled eggs, stuffed celery, potato salad, and maybe an icebox cake for dessert. If the weather was warm enough, the younger and braver kids might try out the pool.  I thought Memorial Day would always be just like it was in those days, but time streams on and things change. Luckily, the memories of my small town Memorial Day holiday linger resplendently. And I am grateful.

Open pasture...

There are many signs of the changing of the seasons here at the farmlette; the first day it is warm enough to use the garden hoses, when the daffodils bloom, the sound of the peepers calling on still- cold nights, all of these are delights. Today Chris made another big seasonal change happen, when he finished tweaking the fence in the upper pasture so we could let the livestock up there to graze.  This land belongs to our generous neighbors, who very kindly allow us to put up electric fence so the goats and donkeys can have a vastly enlarged smorgasbord to snack upon. I opened the gate with great excitement. The livestock looked on, not quite as enthused as I was.  I put a halter on Abraham and led him out.  He nibbled a moment, then headed back to the donkey dorm.  But the goats grasped the import of the event.

Spirit and Bliss went right to work sampling the salad bar. The kids, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, stood at the entrance looking perplexed. They nibbled a little, then hightailed it back to familiar turf. After a while they got brave and joined the big goats, exploring with obvious wonder. The donkeys made their way more slowly. Chris handed out celebratory cookies.

Now the deer and "Big Red," the groundhog will have company on this lovely slice of land.

Chris and I enjoyed a sandwich at the picnic table, watching the animals graze until the black flies drove us inside. Open pasture day is an especially happy sign of spring. Thank you, Chris! 

Start of day...

A few years ago Chris gave me a Kindle Paperwhite for Christmas. It is an "E Reader," small and light, with a crystal clear screen that can even be viewed in bright light, say, on a sunny beach or in my back yard at the weathered picnic table. He carefully chose a colorful, protective cover for it, with a beautiful tree and a magnetic front so that when I open it the device automatically turns on. I can search from thousands of books, choose one, and press on it. Like magic the fee for the book is zapped from my bank account, and at the same time the book appears in my Kindle.I can instantly begin reading my purchase.  It never ceases to amaze me.

The sun rises early in Maine in the spring and summer, the sky brightening a little after 4 AM and Sol himself peering through the pine and hardwood trees at 5. This wakes me, long before I need to get up. I watch the glass turn from black to gray, the edges of my starched ball fringe curtains gradually become visible, their outline sharper and sharper with the passing moments.  The bed is  soft, and one or two dogs are pressed against me. Warmth radiates off Chris, and I am too comfortable to get up, but too awake to go back to sleep. So I lift the e book from the bedside table and am instantly awash in words. I am finding that if I allow myself some time to read before I get up, the whole day is better. Especially if I am reading something where the author has a good grasp of language, because the way they write shapes the way my brain forms thoughts for hours to come. By 5:30 Bravo is restless and Abraham donkey is singing the song of his people, willing me to come out and start morning chores.

With the rhythm and cadence of good writing echoing in my head, I begin. Dogs out, feet crammed into boots. Cats fed, water hoses on. Ducks and chickens released from their safe coops, water bowls and duck pool filled with clear, clean water.  Feed pans topped off.  In the garage I find bowls for donkeys and goats,  hefty grain scoops and bins brimming with grain and seeds. I fill the bowls with mineral pellets and feed, a fistful of treats shared among them, and troop to the pasture gate. All the faces are there, anxiously waiting. I dole out the goods, and steal a moment, arms crossed on the cool, dewy, metal, watching goats and donkeys savor their breakfast.  My Silky rooster crows near my feet, his voice much louder than any bird as small as he is should be. An unseen neighbor rooster answers from a long distance.

Just like that every domestic animal at FairWinds is full of good food, and my head is still full of the words I started my day with. And that is a gift.

Happenings...

Spring is a busy time when you are a pet groomer.  We've been putting in long days and have had a few challenging pets to groom. And then there is general farm stuff keeping me busy. All excuses why I have not blogged much lately. However, I've been taking pictures so I can catch up, and today is a good day for that. It's raining. Again. Outside everything is sodden, but it's pleasant to sit in the quiet house and do a little writing.

The hummingbirds have returned from warmer climes, and I am so happy to have them.
Baltimore Orioles, too.

Also here on a visit from south of here was Chris' sweet sister, Meg. She spent a week with us, and Maine was cold and damp the entire time.  I think she still managed to have a little fun, though. We celebrated her birthday while she was here, and Chris took some time off to show her around.

Bravo and I went to a Wag It Games trial. I signed up for bunches of classes, and we had a blast. Bravo is such a good boy, and tolerates my sloppy handling with grace. In the hands of a better trainer he'd been unstoppable, but we still made a decent showing.

For Mother's Day Rachel took me to Brunswick. We poked around the enormous antique mall there, housed in an old factory building. I found a hilarious vintage ashtray which is now our appointment card holder. It's a dog in a bathtub, with a horrified look on it's face. It makes me laugh, and Rachel paid for it, which makes it all the more fun.

There were so many interesting things to see.

And because it was Mother's Day, they were hosting a special tea. We didn't partake, but we did nip in to put on some of the available costumes and have our picture taken on the antique sofa.

Rachel treated me to a light lunch at the delicious Japanese restaurant there, saving room for gelato down the street. On the way home we walked up to the Damariscotta Mills Fish ladder to see if the Alewives had arrived yet. Alewives (also known as river herring) spend most of their lives at sea. They then travel to fresh water to spawn, and a wonderful fish ladder has been built so they can leap from pool to pool until they reach Damariscotta Lake. If you google it you can see footage of this special place. There was not a lot of action when we were there, but it was a scenic way to end our magical day together. I brought home a few treasures, including a Maine made potato basket, a funky old wooden ladder which I will hang cozy quilts on next fall, and a small wicker hamper that we have pressed into use as a trash receptacle. Getting the ladder into Rachel's little car was a neat trick, but with the kind help of a man who had better spatial reasoning than we, the job was done.

I am very much enjoying our new ducks. My smart cousin Karen came up with the winning names,
Blanche, Bianca and Bill. They are far more tame than previous ducks here, and go nicely into their house at night, so as not to become fox food.

We are anxious for them to learn how to go through the little "chicken hole" in the fence so they can enjoy the big pasture, but they seem to be slow learners.

Now I am off to dance between the rain drops and plant some peas. More soon, I promise.

Oh Abraham..!

A few posts back I wrote about the continuing woes with Sarah's hooves.  Since then her marvelous farrier has been out and gave me a good report. That was a giant relief. 

 Meanwhile, we bought her some brightly colored socks to wear under her boots. Sometimes I add a matching bow to her forelock. A girl needs a sense of style. Bonus, the socks are super squishy and look comfy.

 

 

 

 



I was able to feel pleased about the good news on her hooves and farm life in general for about 2 days. And then Abraham got a funny look on his face and cut way down on his food consumption. I messaged my vet. I kept an eye on the little gray guy. I couldn't put my finger on it, but he wasn't right. I called the vet and explained my concerns. She came right out. She listened to his stomach. She listened to his heart. She opened his mouth and inhaled. A grimace passed over her face. Then she put a speculum in his mouth and cranked it open. She swept her finger in around his molars and some weird black stuff came out.  "You have some jacked up teeth here, sir," she told him.  (The equine dentist was here last fall, and Abraham got a good report then.)  She joked, "You need to get a pet psychic to figure out what is wrong with this guy."

,
I knew she was kidding, but my friend is an animal psychic. I bribed her with the promise of lunch out and good ice cream. I said, "Can you talk to Abraham? He does not feel well."  She came right back, "Instantly got a picture of something black and smelly and wondered if he had bad breath." I was wowed.

With medication and frequent feedings,  day by day Abraham donkey improved. Finally he was racing around the pasture again, yelling his fool head off, eating like he normally would, and playing with Sarah. I heaved a sigh of relief and felt the tension leave my shoulders.

And then Bliss began to limp.

Mother of Tweedledee and Tweedledum, looking thin and frail from producing so much milk, now she was holding up her right rear foot. I trimmed her hoof. I poured medication into it. I felt her joints. I cranked up my worry level. The next day she was a little better. I cleaned her hoof again and poured in more medication.  By today she was sound. I heaved a sigh of relief.

And this is farming life. Up and down, worry and relief. I worry about hooves and bellies, and in between I clean stalls and brush critters and watch. Sometimes there is laughter. Sometimes there is concern. But there is always love. So much love.