Saturday, June 24, 2017


Keep out of ruts: a rut is something
If traveled too much, becomes a ditch.
                                              Arthur Guiterman

The sound of a soft steady moo floats through the window. The clock on the dresser reads 5:10. I get up to watch the routine. Every evening our cows come back home to sleep behind the house. I have no idea when they arrived after their adventures of the previous day. All I know is that they will be here every morning and I will see them if I get up early enough. If I am lucky, like this morning I will watch them exit the field behind the house to head into their day’s routine. Most days lately, I have not bothered to rouse myself out of bed. This morning the soft mooing soothed my soul and apparently held a story that needed to be told. My muse has not visited for a while, so I listen.

Yesterday, I drove to town to run some errands. I was shocked to see so much water on the fields. I had heard the rain on the roof, but it had lulled me to sleep and I did not think about the consequences of it.

It is the time of year where we should be out in the fields harvesting the hay. It is indeed ready. Actually, it has been ready for weeks now. The heads of the bromegrass and the orchard grass blows in the wind. Ideally, we would get the grass cut before this stage. The quality of the hay drops after the heads appear. In other words, it is all downhill from here as far as the best quality hay for our cows.

This season has brought rain, abundant amounts of rain. After the drought of last year, we were grateful. It appears to me that Mother Nature has been way too generous with her donations, in her effort to make up for last year.

As I was saying, my drive to town yesterday revealed the effects of too much rain. Corn fields, with their little sprouts of green in perfectly straight rows where the rays of the sun bounce between, are always beautiful. Soybean fields laid out in rows, fall wheat with heads that blow in the wind all of which now have puddles or in some cases lakes of water where geese and ducks swim around. Even those fields that are tiled drained struggle to keep the fields dry. Routines to plant early with hopes to harvest were delayed and in some cases have not happened at all. 

Some farmers did get fields planted early enough, (I have no idea how) and they are doing well. Some waited till their fields dried up and planted a bit later. Fields flooded and tracks of mud on the road tell a tale of routines broken or at least bent. Flattened fields of fall wheat tell the story of another night of heavy rain.

Haying is on hold for us. That is OK. We kept ourselves busy with things that are not our usual routine but oh so enjoyable. A visit from our granddaughter filled the days. The thought of the headed out grass in the soggy field that waits to be harvested did not enter my mind. My mind was full of tea parties, Lego building, walks to the tractor, chats with the cows and picking daisies.

Routines are meant to be changed and all will work out, in the end, I am sure. I did get to catch the resident Hummingbird having breakfast this morning. It was so worth getting up for.

The cows continue to walk down the lane like a parade. I have no doubt they will be back tonight to sleep outside our window. They will moo softly in the morning to either wake up or maybe not, the farm girl who has no set routine these days and lies in wait.

All in good time. Not everything is written in black and white and routines (or is that rules?) are made to be broken. All good sayings, I guess.