This message is from: "Norsk Wood Works" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
I want to share a piece I wrote for a regional country newspaper recently. I
am attempting to define my meaning of 'rural'.
Country Life
In my life the rooster crows at the break of dawn on a warm summer morning.
Even before my wrinkled eyes open to the soft eastern light my nose detects
the wholesome smell of fresh cut hay. The fragrance has been with me all night
seeping through my open window on a quiet dewy breeze.
Here my son and I do chores before breakfast. Ours are not relentless chores
like the neighbors across the road. We need to feed the chickens, dogs,
horses, and kitties. There is time to talk to each of them and assess their
general well being morning and night. We have found a way to make a living on
the farm but not by farming. We don't experience rush hour traffic and we come
in every day promptly at 12 noon to fix a simple lunch my wife and I.
Summer days are long and there is much to do. We strive to keep the garden
ahead of the weeds at least until July. Fences need to be fixed; the lawn
should be mowed preferably on Friday. On Friday our city guests churn
northward elbowing their way into the woods and onto the boat landings.
As the leaves start to fall in October our hay is in the barn, the potatoes
should be dug, and the dogs know it is bird season by revealing muffled booms
coming from the woods. Now is the nicest time to ride the horses across the
fields to explore little used trails in the dense county forest. As nights get
colder we begin to move seasoned ranks of stove wood closer to the house where
it will be easier to fetch when winter snow flies.
If summer is for pleasure winter is for health. As soon as the snow comes we
tour the woods on cross-country skies. Winter air is as fresh as air can be.
This is a good time to train young horses to pull the sleigh. If they get
excited learning to work, the soft snow -drifts will help bend their minds in
the right direction. Winter may be the best time on the farm. For those who
like quiet living, winter is the quietest.
In March we set taps in the big shaggy bark maple trees. The sweet smell of
cooking sap makes one anxious to experience more smells of spring like fresh
turned earth. Soon the foals will be born and their long knobby legs will
carry them dancing over the lush green pasture as the butterflies flip through
warming air. The frog noise coming from the swamps is pleasantly deafening.
Our proud stallion struts the fence line, neck arched, nostrils flared,
flirting with the shy nearly interested mares. His raw energy is awesome and
clearly contagious.
In the morning we will cut the hay. The rooster will crow. Rural life goes
on.
By Phillip Odden Barronett, Wisconsin
