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sunrise on the farm
Jim

I love that first mug of coffee in the morning.

Strong, steaming hot coffee sure hits the spot at daybreak. After rolling out of bed, it is easily the first thing on my ‘to-do’ list. Let’s get that coffee percolating. It seems like I can’t even seem to get my eyes to open properly until I hear the sound of the coffee pot begin to gurgle to life. And the smell, I love that smell first thing in the morning! Brewed coffee. My go-to coffee is Highlander Grogg. If you haven’t tried it, I highly recommend it. I buy mine from a great roasting house in Edmonton. One of my favourite ways to prepare it is to grind two scoops of Grogg beans with a scoop of Starbucks Pike Place Roast.  This combo has a great aroma, and an even better taste!

Not until I’m sitting at the kitchen table with my fingers locked around my warm, inviting mug does the morning begin to come into focus for me. Sitting at the table and looking through the door windows to my left, I see the sun struggling through the trees. It’s trying to steam the dew from the backyard grass as it pokes through the foliage.

Sip.

Straight ahead, to the south, it’s punched through that same treeline and is rolling over the pasture, mist rising. No cows or horses in sight. Hmmm, they must be further south by the dugout. Yup, so nice.

I think it’s going to be one of those perfect, quiet, sunny Saturday mornings.

Sip.

To my right I can see the barn through the living room windows. It always looks so nice to see the wooden barn walls slowly come to life as the sun begins to light up the faded and flaked brown and white paint. Glancing at the doors I notice something isn’t quite right. Damn, a pig has gotten out and is standing in the open barn doors.

Sip. Make that two pigs. Double Damn. Both pigs stop, one on each side of the doorway, to give their sides a good rub up and down on the door frames.  It always feels so nice to get rid of all those early morning itches, doesn’t it? Well, I guess I better go gather up those two after my coffee.

Sip.

Pigs, ha, geez.  Hey, wait a second.  We don’t have pigs!

Forcing a couple hard blinks I start to wake a little faster than I would have liked. With mug in hand I walk to the living room window to have a closer look, and I stand staring through the glass. Yup, those are for-sure pigs, and I see they’ve wandered a little closer to the house now.  Grabbing my jacket and cell phone and still holding my mug I head outside for a little closer inspection.  Hearing the door open and shut brings our two dogs, Keifer and Kirby, to life.  They have just now decided it’s time to rise and shine.  The minute Kirby steps from the doghouse she notices the newcomers.  The hair on her back immediately stands to attention while she gives the most earnest ‘Hey! You! Get the hell out of here!’ bark she can muster. Her threat is ignored.

Old Keifer the Hound is a lover, not a fighter. 

He takes the opposite approach. Seeing the pigs spurs his ‘come be my neighbour’ curiosity. I’m somewhere in between these two.  I don’t want them hanged at the gallows like Kirby, but I’m also not sure I want to be their best bud like Keifer. As I take a few steps toward them I give a big shout out. “Soooo-ey! Sooooo-ey! Here pig pig pig!”  They look up. Until that point I don’t even think they noticed we were watching. Upon hearing my call, they too become curious and begin to take a few steps toward us. Friendly I see.

Oddly, Keifer has become Sherlock Holmes.  Ever “Keifer the chicken”, has for some reason this morning become “Keifer the sleuth”. Off he goes and within seconds he has decided he’s either a pig or they are odd mannered dogs. He sniffs one and then the other and then the first one again. And then, for some reason he licks it!  “Keifer! That’s gross! You don’t know where that’s been! Come here boy!” Now I’m being ignored as he continues his investigation. Yup, I think he’s decided, he’s a pig.

Kirby can hardly contain her disdain. She’s always a bit excitable but she knows instinctively these are strangers, be they pig, be they dog, they do not belong here!  Woof, woof, WOOF!!

Time to make some phone calls.

“Hey Johnny, good morning”

“Yeah, it’s early, sorry about that.  Listen, Johnny, I’ve gotta ask you, do you keep pigs?”

“Two you say…Sows.  Oh ok.  Can you do me a favour and have a quick look-see in your pens?”

“Empty?  Uh hmm.  Yes, well I think I can help you out there.  I’m just now walking behind a couple of Sows in my barnyard.”

“Yup.”

“On your way?  Oh?  Ok, I’ll keep ‘em rounded up and wait for you here.”

And with that, the mystery of the pigs is solved.

Johnny is my new neighbour across the road to the north. He just moved in a few months back and it seems he’s come to own two pregnant sows.

Once Johnny arrives we start to walk the pigs down the driveway back to their home, and as a result,  Kirby is finally starting to relax a bit. She realizes these unwelcome strangers have begun their departure from her ‘territory’. Keifer, on the other hand, isn’t so sure they should go. As Johnny and I follow the pigs along, Keifer has joined the ‘herd’. Yup, he’s now become a pig.

“Johnny, once we get these pigs to your driveway, lets cull the last one out and try to keep him here.  I think Jess would be a bit disappointed if I let him move in with these two.”

Eventually I get Keifer to separate from his new friends, and join me and Kirby on our stroll up the driveway back to the house. With the pigs safely returned home, the dogs back to their normal behavior of lazing away the morning on the stoop, I can return to my table with a fresh mug in hand, sit and look out my south pasture window and relax a little. Yup, what a beautiful, typical, Saturday morning.  No cows or horses in sight. Hmmm, they must be further south by the dugout.

Sip.

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bales stacked in a field
Jim

The Weather

I’m not sure why the change in weather can still surprise me so much. Yesterday I was wearing shorts and hauling hay bales in from the field. The second cutting growth was really coming along. It’s just a matter of time, I thought, and I will need to service the haybine and start cutting this alfalfa. My guess was that this main hay field south of the house ought to produce 200 or so bales. Boy, that’s sure going to come in handy.

Time for second cut

Of course before I can even think to start to cut, I will need to move these last few bales from the hay field. At the moment, they are exactly in my way. Up in the hay yard is where they need to be. If not,  I’ll be spending my cutting days dodging around them. That’s a very messy proposition.

“Just a few loads to go, right Kirby?”

Kirby the Hound keeps me company on some of these hauls. She’s always up for a ride or two in the hay truck. and I don’t mind admitting that I enjoy the company. Although, from time to time she can forget which seat is hers .

So long ago

Well that was yesterday, it’s funny what a day can do.  Today?  Well, today my 200 bale production estimates seem a tad optimistic. Do you remember all those previous years when all that snow fell on us in the middle of September?? Me either. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen this much snow this early. And the weather man is predicting two or three more days of rain and snow. Lovely.

New Production Prediction

So, I’ve downgraded my second cutting estimates a little bit. Instead of that 200 bales I  optimistically guestimated earlier, it’s now slightly less. My new prediction? Zero.

 

Farming can be awfully fickle.  There’s a reason we so often hear the old proverb “Don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched”. That’s 200 bales I counted yesterday that I shall never see.

As always, mother nature has the last word…

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fox hole
Jim

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.

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