Ragtag March on the Farm

 

We're a ragtag bunch on the farm this time of year. In the winter the farm horses (and the farmers!) are fuzzy and round, and by the summer we''re all sleek and trim. But in March?

In March our horses are patchy and scratchy, shedding clumps of hair, rolling in the muddy-slushy barnyard, itching on the stalls and the posts in the barn, and itching on the farmers too, if the farmers are handy.

We are often handy, in March, since there's not much more satisfying than helping an itchy horse shed. The horses swoon with pleasure when we start brushing; in fact, Molly, our lovey-dovey Belgian mare, follows us around the barnyard, nudging us with her nose. Brush me! Brush me! she says, even if we're merely passing though on another errand, and have no brush available.

But Molly doesn't need a brush for happiness. Itch me, itch me instead! she says. We scratch her chin; we scratch her neck. Nudge, nudge, she pushes with her nose, You've got two hands, why aren't you using both of them?

“Molly's so funny,” I say to my fellow farmer. “she's just like you. So friendly and enthusiastic.”

“And such a hard worker, too,” my fellow adds, brushing Molly's back.

“Oh, indeed.” I scratch Molly under her mane, and she arches her neck, entirely pleased with this double attention.

Moon, Molly's Belgian brother, is standing nearby, and he is another critter entirely. He's a fine horse, too, if not exactly eager for work, and rather reserved. Even in the itchy days of March, Moon is not generally receptive to a free-standing grooming session, though once he's haltered and tied, he relaxes a bit, even allowing that a brushing on a certain spot near his front leg might feel kind of good. Even so, it takes a little while in the spring to get Moon used to the whole idea of being groomed regularly again, as a prelude to working regularly again. Luckily, it is only March, and we have time to take it slowly with him.

“Moon's so funny,” my fellow says, ”isn't he? Kind of reserved, kind of easily offended, kind of hangs back with the work, you know, kind of like . . . ahem . . . kind of like . . .”

“Now listen, my friend,” I look askance at my fellow. “Is that a sustainable, productive way to address one's beloved partner in life and in work?”

“Hee hee hee,” answers my fellow devilishly, and heads toward another itchy horse with the currycomb.

Ben, our black Percheron gelding, is our biggest, goofiest, itchy horse, and he has a funny backward flop to his ears on occasion. Sometimes I am not so sure of big ol' Benny: Is he unhappy? Is he pinning his ears back? Does he like this? Does he not want anything to do with it?

“Let me watch you groom him,” I say to my fellow, “I want to see what he does. I don't know how to read him, exactly.”

My fellow starts a vigorous brushing. Benny stands stock still, with the backward flop with his ears.

“You know, he's so big and goofy, I try not to read him too much,” my fellow remarks, which makes me laugh. And look at that, Benny has his eyes closed, and his back leg flopped out, in the bliss of having his inner leg brushed. His funny black flop ear is perfectly matched by his funny back flop leg.

“Well, he does seem pretty happy about that,” I say, going to Betsy, our black Percheron mare, sway-backed and retired, who is waiting sleepily in the sun for me. Along with the wisdom and calming presence that Betsey has acquired in her old age, she's also developed the incredibly thick and long coat of an older horse.

Betsey is our March poster horse, our most stunning equine example of ragtag March (and April, and even May and June, as she takes ages now to shed out). She has gobs of loose hair hanging all over her body. When she walks, a shower of hair attends her. She itches herself fiercely on manger and post, leaving clumps and mats and entire carpets of hair behind. This is all despite our grooming, which we soon finish for the day with a hairy flourish.

Pleased, we look around at our slightly tidier, for a few minutes at least, herd of four fine work horses. As soon as we leave the barnyard, of course, they will start rolling and itching again. But for now they look lovely, and we farmers?

We farmers are ragtag March all over: muddy and slushy, friendly and reserved, patchy and scratchy, hardworking and sleepy, and, oh yes, covered head to toe with horse hair. My fellow looks me over, and takes a currycomb to my coat, brushing gently in circles.

“There now,” he says, “Isn't this a nice, sustainable, productive way to treat one's beloved partner in life and work?”

“Hee hee hee,” I say. It tickles.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, March 18- 24, 2015

 

Tending is Not Quite Toiling

There are many pleasing options for a New England vegetable farmer in January. Our harvesting ended in November, and our cram-in-all-the-rest-of-the-work-before-the-weather-gets-too-bad month of December is over. Mostly the January options feature lots of resting, but resting with just enough effort involved to ward off the guilt of not working at full-on-high-gardening-season speed.

Tend to the wood stove: We have to bring in wood from the woodshed, which allows us to admire all the fruit of our past labors of cutting down, bringing in, cutting up, and stacking all that firewood. We have to re-stack the wood in the firewood ring in the house. We have to build the fire. We have to periodically fill the stove with wood. We have to adjust dampers and flues. We have to clear out ash, and sweep the hearth. We have to lie down in front of the stove, and read our books.

Tend to the work horses: We have to feed hay to our four horses three times a day, which allows us to admire all the fruit of our past labors of mowing, raking, loading, and unloading all that hay. We have to break the ice on the water trough. We have to fill the water trough, every couple of days. We have to clean the stalls and as much of the barnyard as we can, of whatever manure that hasn't already frozen to the ground. We have to give our horses little turnip treats, and pet them, and kiss their noses, and enjoy their contented hay and turnip munching.

Tend to the kitchen: We have to plan our meals, and then fetch the ingredients from the chest freezer or the root cellar, which allows us to admire all the fruit of our past labors, all that chopping and blanching and freezing and canning and drying. We have to cook our meals. We have to wash the pots and pans and plates and silverware. We have to eat the meals, yummy meals made from our very own yummy garden vegetables. We have to get our bellies full, and then miraculously, in a little while, they are empty again, and we have to eat another yummy meal.

Tend to the greenhouses: We have to shovel the snow from the sides of our greenhouse, if the piles heap up too much, which allows us to admire all the fruit of our past labors, digging and drilling and hammering and sawing and swearing as we built each greenhouse (including the fourth and final one, completed just this past December 31st). We also have to dig the greenhouse beds, in preparation for next spring. If it's warm enough, we have to harvest and wash and eat some locally, biodynamically grown incredibly yummy and hardy and beautifully green spinach.

Tend to the taxes: We have to do this in January, as farmers taxes are due sooner than other peoples'. This could be an experience which allows us to admire all the fruit of our past labors, entering in and tallying up our accounts faithfully and dutifully every month all year. However, it is more often a wistful, rather painful period of wishing we had faithfully and dutifully entered all our accounts every month all year. Still, we can anticipate how free and gleeful we will feel in April, when we are enjoying the spring garden work, and all those other peoples are gnashing-their-taxes-teeth.

Tend to the seed catalogs: We have to use our mighty farming muscles to extract the catalogs from our post office box, which is bulging full of seed catalogs this time of year. We have to marvel at all the incredible varieties available, as well as marvel at the linguistic heights the catalog people reach in naming all the new varieties. And we have to try not to order too many of these tempting, fascinating new vegetables, in consideration of both our budget and our labor next year, which, of course, in January, are all in the future, and rosy indeed.

Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Jan 21 – 27, 2015