Farm Fresh Blog

There is a quiet peace in the morning, between that time when the sun creeps up and when the farm itself realizes the primary caretaker is vertical. It is when you can walk with the dogs, sipping coffee, contemplating God, life, the sunrise, and how a farm goes through so much hay. Tiny spring flowers struggle to make their way above ground, only to be snapped off by the teeth of the puppy as she races along, bent on making her mark in the world today.

The cows, still bedded down around a dwindling round bale of hay, notice me but do not bother themselves to stand and demand breakfast. The sheep are already out to field, mingling with early rising horses.  I thread my way around tractor implements as the pup races ahead, eager to conquer new heights today. Her joy in the morning is infectious, so even the older dog lowers himself to play in the mist. The puppy tests her legs, her lungs, and her world as she runs faster, climbs higher, and gets bolder with each passing day.

The rain has finally stopped and the water is slowly receding, leaving the blasted mud. Goats and cats, kindred spirits in this weather, huddle in the barn, hating this muddy world together. The pup bounces at my feet, mud dotting the top of her white forehead. Sure that she has my attention now, she races to the top of the dog walk, where she pirouettes like a dancer and smiles back at me.

I smile back. The red troll dog sees my grin and hustles up behind her, eager to prove that he too, can climb to new heights.

I assure him that he is a most wonderful canine and a valuable assest to the farm. After all, every ranch needs a troll that can climb. I survey the pasture, counting fluffy bodies in the distance. The large white dog at the fence has already counted sheep and we compare our numbers to make sure they match.  I already know they will. If the count was off, the dog wouldn't be at the fence.

The coffee gets low as the farm lets out a breath and finally wakes up. The cattle struggle to their feet and call to me. Horses and sheep begin to amble in. Goats peep out of the barn. They won't step into the mud until they are certain I am committed to coming out there. I take that last sip of coffee. It is time, time to feed and face the day and the rising din of racket as the farm wakes from its peaceful slumber.