It seems there’s always something new to discover on the farm. Sometimes at play, sometimes at work. These discoveries are not always a good thing, but I especially appreciate the ones that are. It’s those that can spark your imagination.

While hauling hay in from the field this year

I happened upon an area on the edge of a hill that ought to have been green. Or at least greenish. It was only week-old hay stubble, so a greenish brown would’ve seemed about right.  Instead of that expected hay-stubble colour, the ground looked sandy brown. In fact, from the seat of the truck it appeared to be completely tan.  It was about 30 yards away, not too far. Off I go, my curiosity just wouldn’t leave it alone. This discoloured area had to be inspected.

As the truck got closer

and the sandy coloured spot became more defined I could see that this was not hay stubble at all. It was sand. The sand formed a small mound directly south of a freshly dug hole.  Since this mound had buried the stubble it couldn’t have been here long, a week at the most.  It’s odd I hadn’t noticed it sooner. As I stood there, looking at that hole I naturally started to guess at how it may have gotten there. In no time at all I found myself carried back in time to some of my most beloved childhood storybook characters: those brought to me by Mr Thornton W. Burgess. Do you know the ones?

Where did this hole come from?

Well to start with it is no doubt a hole, so definitely not Sammy Jay. It’s too small for Buster Bear and I didn’t smell Jimmy The Skunk. Danny Meadow Mouse would never have needed a hole this extravagant and there’s not enough water nearby for Little Joe Otter. It looks about the right size for Reddy The Fox my mind told me. It could definitely be something he might’ve put here. So, using the size of the hole as my guide, I let my mind settle in on it being a fox.

In years past, our neighbour across the road would keep chickens.

And chickens are too inviting for any fox to pass up. So those chickens begat foxes. Just across from their hen-house, on my side of the road, I kept four steel grain bins. The foxes built themselves a comfortable burrow under the wooden floors of those old bins and used to spend their nights terrorizing those chickens. Well, the neighbours and their chickens are no longer around, and with the chickens gone, the foxes also packed up and left. Since those foxes built their home under my grain bins I’ve never actually seen a foxhole, but again, this hole seemed to meet the criteria, size wise.

Being inquisitive,

for three days we had a trail cam stand guard just a few feet to the south of the new hole. Over those three days it would average 192 ‘events’ per night. But it didn’t record anything except 192 different ways a breeze can toss a blade of grass back and forth. It’s crazy how little movement can trigger this trail cam. All those pictures and not a single critter. How disappointing. Actually that’s not entirely true.  I guess there were some shots of ‘Kirby the hound’, our yellow lab. She was equally curious about this site.  But there were no new critters on film. My theory is; they found their new neighbours, us, a bit too nosy and shuffled on to find a better spot.

I have to admit, I am still wondering what it might have been.

As I guess at the possibilities my mind wanders back to some of Mr Burgess’ storybook characters and I can’t resist a smile. I guess in the long run it doesn’t really matter which one it was.  I’m just thankful that Mr. Burgess let them come along and set for a spell this summer, just like he did in his storybooks, all those years ago.  Even if it was just a day or two.