Sometimes the unique occurs…Marianne from Northview Diary sent me this:
Even though we have hay down (sigh)
The gift of rain blessed our part of the world.
A simple necessity, and a not so small joy!
Your friend on a western Colorado farm,
Linda
The smoke is thick here from all the fires in the west. Sometimes so thick the street lights think it is time to come on.
Meanwhile —-
Those darling little Barn Swallow babies…
Are getting close to leaving the nest! 🙂
Your friend on a western Colorado farm,
Linda
The second field is now cut
And drying
With this furnace-like heat, we should see the hay ready to bail soon. (although, we will need some dew in the mornings to actually make the bales. I sure hope it all comes together.)
Your friend on a western Colorado farm,
Linda
Every last bale of the first field was loaded up and hauled out
Just before the clock stuck 9:00 p.m.
Two trucks, two trailers; all the hay gone to new homes!
YAY!
Your friend on a western Colorado farm,
Linda
Although, we received no rain
The sun and the moisture in the air gave us
That glorious omen of
Hope!
The omen that told Noah…all will be okay!
From my world to your heart,
Linda
Well, since you don’t really listen to me, or take my advice—yes,
I have seen you clear out by the Butler Bins—-you need to get this through your fluffy head…
RUN! RUNNNN! GET OUT OF THERE!
TLC CAI-CAI!!!!!!
there is a fox out there!
Fox EAT CATS!!!!
Let that sink in…STAY. AT. The. Butler BINS!!!
Huff, huff.
Well, on with your lesson. We live on a farm. We don’t live in town, or in a clump of houses called a sub-division, or on a ranch.
We live where Dad works the land—plowing, planting, marking, watering, growing, and then harvesting.
Farms grow foodstuffs.
A Ranch grows Grass. Grass called Pasture. Pasture lands for animals.
Not us…yes, I know we are animals.
Big animals, cows, horses, sheep, goats, those sorts of animals.
Oh! Just so you know. Come winter, after the crops are gone from the farm, then cows come. They eat up all the dried-up grasses and weeds and alfalfa, and left-over corn stalks.
“Are we a ranch then?”
“No, we are a guest hotel for a rancher and all his cows” I replied.
So, now you know, we live on a farm. We grow pasture grasses, alfalfa; three big fields of alfalfa, which Dad and Mom turn into hay, and corn. The corn is field corn, not sweet corn. Although, the cows think it is pretty sweet and yummy.
Our corn is the kind of corn that goes for food like cereal, and food for animals; like chickens, cows, goats, etc.”
Okay, so now you know…we live on a farm.
Next time I will teach you more about the farm.
Until then you stay out of the cornfield, there are foxes in there!
Mindy Lou-Sue, or as Mom calls me, Min-Min
The heat is back…hot like the underside of burning logs
The day starts so brightly, if you shut your eyes the light stays under your eyelids for a long, long time
Sometimes the clouds build up around us..skimming flat over the plateau
and a wind bends the long grasses this way and that
Then the clouds move on being pushed somewhere else. (Which is a good thing with the alfalfa turning into hay)
The first field of alfalfa is now being baled and hauled.
The second field has been cut and is drying into hay—-
Our days busy, busy with the back and forth of this and that.
2nd cutting of hay: First field is done, the second field in the process, the third field still to go.
Your friend on a western Colorado farm,
Linda
Those flesh and blood creatures
Who share the farm with us.
The daily hum, of not just our movement on the farm
But the songs,
The physical movement
Even the air
The light.
All hooked together; like a large crochet bedspread.
From my world to your heart,
Linda
Here we are— right smack dab in the middle of summer
The day dawned all goldened and glittery with sunshine splitting the over-night dark clouds
Gathering up his energy off Terry went—
2nd Cutting of Alfalfa—-we are smack dab in the middle of Summer now. (Third cutting of alfalfa will be at the ending of Summer 🙂 )
Your friend on a western Colorado farm,
Linda
Life on a Colorado Farm 