Dec. 04, 2003 ~ Critters and such
After the previous entry, a friend emailed and graciously explained that since cows are often fat, and I keep implying that they are not very smart, it's no wonder that people don't want cows to be named for them. Well, fine. She does have a point. But in spite of everything, cows are awfully cute, and "cute" counts for a lot.
We have a new addition this morning, a beautiful big bull calf. Flora Ruth is the proud mama, and the baby is cute and soft and shiny. I first noticed what looked like a bald eagle standing in the pasture, not too far from Flora. An eagle? On the ground? A peek through the binoculars and it STILL looked like a bald eagle. But I expect it was some kind of vulture, checking out the afterbirth and such. The calf is strong and already bouncy, though he is very much fresh from the factory.
As I was washing dishes, there was a loud thump on the back porch. A little bird had apparently flown into the sliding glass door, and had knocked himself senseless! Poor little thing. He stood there for a while with his wings spread wide, his beak open, a dazed look on his face. I knocked on the glass, saying "Shoo!" Our kitties love to eat porch birds. This used to happen a lot, but usually it was hummingbirds who knocked themselves out. Pepper, our housecat, went to the door and meowed, and our little bird friend finally woke up enough to fly away. Somewhat erratically, he landed first on the ground beside the cows, then he flew to a nearby fence.
It's beautiful today. I've always heard people rave about autumn in New England, how vibrant and glorious the colors are. But autumn in East Texas has a quiet grace. The beauty is subtle, the colors more subdued, but there is still much to enjoy and appreciate. The pines, steadfast, maintain their greenery while the other trees slowly change colors and shed their leaves. The hillside behind us is becoming more bare; the fields are mostly brown. The ponds are as dry and small as we've ever seen them, even worse than in times of severe drought. But I still love them, and feel blessed to have any type of water at all.
I've always loved water, as far back as I can remember. As a child, heavy rains meant crawdads and tadpoles in nearby ditches, and I sat for hours happily watching them. Later, there was a deep creek where I stabled my horse, and the horse and I both swam in that creek. Well, she swam, I sat on her back with my feet up on her neck. Snakes and snapping turtles, you see. Not long ago, Dakotah and I used to cross water-filled ravines here. As often as not, though he could have just as easily walked through them, he would jump over, which always made me laugh. It felt like we were flying!
"The Farm" used to mean my uncle's place, and my cousins, brother and I spent countless happy hours there. We caught grasshoppers for fish bait, we fished, we rode the cows. Cows do not especially like to be ridden, and we got in trouble for that, which meant we were more careful not to get caught. We lay on our backs and watched the windmill go round and round. We picked wildflowers, we played hide-and-go-seek in the barns. We had pecan wars, seeing who could find the most. We ate a few, too, but mostly we threw them at each other. We shot BB guns at cans on fenceposts. All great fun for a city girl. There was not much farming done at my uncle's farm, nor is much done here. The previous owners called this place The Farm, though, as did my brother. So it just stuck. We toyed with official names, but none of them sounded quite right, so we remain, unofficially, The Farm. And one of my favorite things about living here is being able to walk down to the ponds on a day like this, and sit for awhile. Just sit. Leaves float by on the water, small creatures swim just beneath the surface, and soon you start to notice sounds. I've even seen an owl in the daytime, as I sat there beside the pond. So if you'll excuse me, my morning chores are done, the sun is shining, the air is crisp, and I'm going outside for awhile. Maybe there are ducks at the pond.
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