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La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm) from Lena, WI
La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm)

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Farm Name: La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm)

Year Farm Established: 1946

Location: Stiles, WI

Years I’ve been farming: 68 years

Animals I raise: None, except wildlife.

Crops I grow: Vegetable gardens, flowers, rye, and pastorage.

Hobbies I enjoy: Feeding and providing habitat for wildlife.

The proudest moment on my farm: For the first time in over 60 years, bobwhite quail was sited on our land.

Pets: Just all sorts of wildlife who visit us daily.

Farm Motto: "All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well." -- Blessed Julian of Norwich


Farm Blog
DescriptionDate & TimeEditDelete
  Late Summer, Part II
Last year at about this time I had written about woodland sunflowers, goldenrod, and the arrival of migrating nighthawks. This year, it's still too early for the nighthawks, but the woodland sunflowers and goldenrod have bloomed, as well as the afore-mentioned marsh milkweed, ironweed, and joe pye weed. All the various thistles have also flowered out, Canadian thistle, centaurea, and the magnificent bull thistle. As for the birds, "comme d'habitude" at this time of year, it is silent except for the calls of the young osprey from their nest in the tall white pines in the Park. We are left only with the chirps and cheeps of the chickadees as they call to each other to let it be known that there is fresh water in the birdbaths and new seed in the feeder, and the caws of the blue jays as they raid these same locations. Hal Borland (with whom you PFR's are already familiar) once wrote how in addition to these crow-like raucous caws, blue jays also expressed themselves in a downright musical twitter. As Borland expressed it, it is as if the blue jay only used it in a more pensive mood, whenever it thought it was not being observed. Borland went on to relate that, in his experience, whenever the blue jay found that it's more melodic notes had been observed and heard by a human, it's enraged and embarrassed reaction was one of even more outraged (and outrageous) caws. So I have found it to be at "La Ferme Sabloneuse". When I'm seated in the Garage Porch in the morning, the jays will come to drink out of the birdbaths without knowing I'm there. They will perch in the oak branches and twitter, or drop down for a quick and surprisingly dainty drink, and then flit back up to the oaks and chirrup. Then, when they finally notice me, that's when they get all indignant and fly off in disgust.

I've also noticed that the oak tree next to the tractor shed has started to drop acorns. Due to the recent dry spell, it's a little early this year. Regardless, as the acorns ping off the corrugated aluminum roofing of the shed, it is a further reminder that that the year is now shifting towards Autumn and many more changes will be coming our way. -- Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

08/16/2014 08:20.55 PM Report This Comment  
  Late Summer, Part I
I try to be conscious about repeating blog titles. Of course, considering the cyclical nature of, well, nature, it is hard not to do. Before entitling this piece I went back and checked out the posting at this time last year. I found that I had posted two blogs, "The Turning of the Year" and "Between Autumn and Summer". Upon re-reading them, I was chagrined to realize that in describing the flora and fauna that have made themselves noticed this week I could merely "copy and paste" the same things that I've noticed last year at this time.

But this is not how it really is! Pardon the dramatic exclamation point, but I think that my PFR's (Precious Few Readers), being Countrymen and women at heart, will agree with me once I've gotten around to making my point. Each year is a wonder of its own and the arrival of each and every development of both plant and animal life in the cycle of the seasons comes to us as both an eye-opening surprise and as a welcome and well-known old friend. A paradox? Well sure, but that's country living for you. (Please scroll up for Part II)

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

08/16/2014 08:16.38 PM Report This Comment  
  Excellent!
Beautiful posts, Gary! Love 'em all!

Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.

08/16/2014 06:31.35 AM Report This Comment  
  Monarchs and Milkweed, Part II
The second generation of monarch butterflies is born in May and June, and then the third generation will be born in July and August. These monarch butterflies will go through exactly the same four stage life cycle as the first generation did, dying two to six weeks after it becomes a beautiful monarch butterfly.

The fourth generation of monarch butterflies is a little bit different than the first three generations. The fourth generation is born in September and October and goes through exactly the same process as the first, second and third generations except for one part. The fourth generation of monarch butterflies does not die after two to six weeks. Instead, this generation of monarch butterflies migrates to warmer climates like Mexico and California and will live for six to eight months until it is time to start the whole process over again. It is amazing how the four generations of monarch butterflies works out so that the monarch population can continue to live on throughout the years, but not become overpopulated. Mother Nature sure has some cool ways of doing things, doesn’t she?" (Monarch Butterfly Site)

I've been moved to post this blog as an exhortation to all Countryfolk to allow milkweed plants to grow on their property. As Wikipedia puts it: "The yearly decrease in the monarch butterfly population has been linked to the decrease in the milkweed plant (Asclepias)—a primary food for monarchs—from herbicide use in the butterfly’s reproductive and feeding areas. The destruction of common milkweed has effectively eliminated the food source from most of the habitat monarchs used to use."

Another vital threat to the survival of Monarchs is the loss of suitable Winter habitat in Central Mexico. Conservationists are lobbying transportation departments and utilities to reduce their use of herbicides and specifically encourage milkweed to grow along roadways and power lines. The goal is to reduce roadside mowing and application of herbicides during the butterfly breeding season. Environmental conservationists are lobbying large-scale agriculture companies to leave small areas of cropland unsprayed to allow the butterflies to breed.

It would appear that butterflies and milkweed are so connected that it defies explanation. Again, according to Wikipedia: "Monarch butterflies can and have crossed the Atlantic. They are becoming more common in Bermuda and Spain, due to increased use of milkweed as an ornamental plant." How monarch butterflies could acquire the information that there was suddenly suitable habitat in Bermuda and Spain is beyond my ken.

So please allow milkweed plants to thrive on your property. It is, perhaps, the only thing that will preserve the Monarch butterfly for our future. --Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

08/13/2014 06:50.19 PM Report This Comment  
  Monarchs and Milkweed, Part I
This post was easier to write than most, simply because all I had to do is research, copy, and paste. Who doesn't love watching the Monarch butterflies at this time of year? "Fluttering" is too chiche' of a term to describe the Monarch's flight. If I had to describe it, I would call it a "graceful search".

I've known many people who've claimed that Monarchs are the souls of ancestors who have been given the grace to return in order to remind us of their love and support. While I don't necessarily agree, I can understand that the delicate nature of the Monarch's physicality and its nature of flight would lead one to come to that conclusion. I am made to think that if there are any animals that epitomize the presence of God in creation, it would be the horse, and the butterfly. The lifecycle of the monarch is as follows:

"Monarch butterflies go through four stages during one life cycle, and through four generations in one year. It’s a little confusing but keep reading and you will understand. The four stages of the monarch butterfly life cycle are the egg, the larvae (caterpillar), the pupa (chrysalis), and the adult butterfly. The four generations are actually four different butterflies going through these four stages during one year until it is time to start over again with stage one and generation one. In February and March, the final generation of hibernating monarch butterflies comes out of hibernation to find a mate. They then migrate north and east in order to find a place to lay their eggs. This starts stage one and generation one of the new year for the monarch butterfly. In March and April the eggs are laid on milkweed plants. They hatch into baby caterpillars, also called the larvae. It takes about four days for the eggs to hatch. Then the baby caterpillar doesn’t do much more than eat the milkweed in order to grow. After about two weeks, the caterpillar will be fully-grown and find a place to attach itself so that it can start the process of metamorphosis. It will attach itself to a stem or a leaf using silk and transform into a chrysalis. Although, from the outside, the 10 days of the chrysalis phase seems to be a time when nothing is happening, it is really a time of rapid change. Within the chrysalis the old body parts of the caterpillar are undergoing a remarkable transformation, called metamorphosis, to become the beautiful parts that make up the butterfly that will emerge. The monarch butterfly will emerge from the pupa and fly away, feeding on flowers and just enjoying the short life it has left, which is only about two to six weeks. This first generation monarch butterfly will then die after laying eggs for generation number two. (Please scroll up for Part II)

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

08/13/2014 06:44.44 PM Report This Comment  
  Sweet Clover (and Yellow Sweet Clover) Part II
The latest photo I've posted on this site is of roadside sweet clover near our place. Around my neck of the woods, sweet clover lines the sides of almost every road. Growing up to five feet high, with crowning blooms of white or yellow florets, it may be to most just another roadside weed, but to me, it's a marvel of a plant. Like many legumes, sweet clover grows well in disturbed soil. When I was a boy, work on our road resulted in a beautiful stand of sweet clover in the ditches lining alongside it. To a boy my size it was perfect concealment in which to play Army. (You have to remember, back in the '60s it was considered normal for a kid to do that.) I remember that Eldest Brother David had dug deep into the roadside clay that the township workers had left in our ditch to get enough to fill in the batting box at our softball field in Stiles. The ensuing hole, deep within the hedge of the tall sweet clover, served as a perfect fighting position. I rememer finding a cast-off blanket and hunkering down with it one cool Autumn evening with my baseball bat rifle and keeping watch for the enemy. When my Pa drove past on his way home he was chagrinned to see me out there and when he had parked the car he walked over and in as kindly a manner as he could, he told me that one: it was kind of dangerous to be sitting there at ground level so close to the road, and two: he didn't need the neighbors talking about how crazy Dave Truckey's youngest boy was acting. (Lord, if that poor man could've only seen the future!) In any event, this country boy has always had an appreciation of this tough, stringy, yet immensely valuable legume. --Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

08/09/2014 07:37.50 PM Report This Comment  
  Sweet Clover (and Yellow Sweet Clover) Part I
This is a plant that has been an integral part of my life even though I hadn't realized it until recently. For all my life I never knew its proper name until only last Sunday. Sweet Clover (Melilotus) is a legume that most of us would commonly categorize as a roadside weed. Originating in Europe, it was introduced into the United States and throughout the world as a result being present in stored feed for shipped livestock (much like how orange and yellow hawkweed came to America). Yellow Sweet Clover, seen around here as well, is just a colored variation. Both types fix nitrogen into the soil, as all legumes do. As Wikipedia states: "This legume is commonly named for its sweet smell, which is due to its high content of the perfume agent coumarin." Coumarin smells like new-mown hay (well duh!) but it can also be used as an anticoagulant. According to Wikipedia: "Warfarin is a synthetic derivative of dicoumarol, a 4-hydroxycoumarin-derived mycotoxin anticoagulant originally discovered in spoiled sweet clover-based animal feeds. Dicoumarol, in turn, is derived from coumarin, a sweet-smelling but coagulation-inactive chemical found naturally in "sweet" clover (to which it gives its odor and name)." Coumadin, which is derived from sweet clover, is used as a blood-thinner for medical patients and as rat poison for home owners.

While researching this subject, I was surprised to find that despite sweet clover's anti-coagulant properties, especially when moldy, it has been used for centuries as fodder for livestock. It's best use, however, is as a cover crop because of the aforementioned nitrogen-fixing qualities. (Please scroll up for Part II, -- Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

08/09/2014 07:23.22 PM Report This Comment  
  High Summer (yet again)
Usually I talk about High Summer as it concerns the garden and field crops; how they are either already producing or approaching that point. This time I've taken special notice of the wildflowers and weeds at this time of year. I've already mentioned the black-eyed Susans and Turkmen's caps but now I see that the Canadian thistles have started to bloom, along with the Joe Pye weed and yarrow. I mentioned the yarrow a few blogs ago but now I see them all in full bloom along the roadsides and in the fields. To me, the cloudy white discs of hundreds of fioretti (or florets) suspended over the terrain, held up by thin stalks, look like so many flying saucers or like a myriad of spiral galaxies viewed through a telescope. It is now that I love to sit on the garage porch and look at the purple hosta flowers, the orange day-lilies, and the cone flowers down in the Bear Garden, accentuated by the yarrow interspersed throughout all.

In what we call the "Windmill Garden" under our flowering crab apple tree, I noticed the that a cast off lily plant that I had planted last year and that had been chewed off by the bunnies has survived and is now putting forth a beautiful set of blooms. In years past I would have already noticed the beginnings of the goldenrod but this year's late Spring has precluded that. Perhaps the most notable of blooms at this time of year, especially in the mornings, are the pumpkin and squash blossoms. We take them for granted you know, just as we take for granted the dandelions and (God forbid) even the purple violets of May. I love seeing the deep, rich, yellow flowers (yes, flowers) of these garden vines each morning as I come out of the house to go out to the garage.

Now so much for the flora. As for the fauna, "comme d'habitude", at this time of year, once again I sadly realize that the morning birdsong has been reduced to just the cardinals and robins, and the evening to my oft-mentioned gold-finch fledglings. Even the seed in the bird feeder lasts longer. Either this means that some of our Summer denizens have already departed Southwards or that the ripening grasses are now providing more available seed. (I tend to lean towards the latter theory.) My Ruthie tells me that tonight she saw yet another new litter of tiny rabbits poking out from under the wooden shed. If so, that would be the third generation of baby bunnies this year. So much the better from my point of view, though I would love to see some foxes, hawks, and owls around La Ferme Sabloneuse as well. As I've stated ad nauseum, my goal here is to provide habitat for wildlife throughout the entire scale of the food chain. While I love bunnies, I also would be gratified to have a den of foxes (as in past years) or a nest of raptors (like the ospreys) at Sandy Farm. As any and all Countrymen (and Countrywomen) I am a lover of life, and want to promote it for any number of species, (except chipmunks). -- Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

08/02/2014 08:46.40 PM Report This Comment  
  First Fruits, Part II
So yesterday I was able to pack a lunch for work of lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers; all from my home garden; along with some Italian dressing. Only a gardener can truly appreciate this. My Ma would tell me that her own Pa would call tomatoes "hankerings" because he had such of one for the first tomatoes of the season.

And do I need to describe the first "feed" of sweet corn? Each and every year the ripening of the corn comes as a surprise to me. It seems that each Summer I find myself perplexed as to how what had been waist-high corn stalks have suddenly transformed themselves to be mature plants with fully ripened ears. Eating, no, feasting, on the year's first corn-on-the-cob can only be described as a luxurious experience. I challenge anyone to nay-say me on the primal pleasure of corn niblets, butter, and salt on an August suppertime. I can already feel the corn silk strands between my teeth!

First Fruits; even this tired, old body craves it, treasures it, and still is enlightened enough to offer it up to those I love, especially the Creator. -- Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

07/30/2014 08:38.06 PM Report This Comment  
  First Fruits, Part I
The tempo of the season forces me to interrupt my planned series of postings on "Hospitality". Tonight I am moved to talk about "first fruits". In the Bible, the first fruits of the year's harvest were supposed to be offered to the Lord as a sacrifice. I am made to think that in reality, offering up the first fruits by burning them was an act of faith in the Lord's promise to provide for His faithful. Think about it. You've waited all Winter and Spring for the vitamin-rich produce that your body craves and now you are called upon to make an act of sacrifice and faith by destroying the first and best of your harvest. Big Brother Tommy tells me that you can't out-give the Lord. Theoretically, I am forced to agree, based on how his practice of tithing has benefited his own life. As for me, a miserable backsliding sinner, I fall short. Still, I am moved to express how wonderful it is to harvest first fruits, and how indescribably delicious they are. The other night I cut up one of the first cucumbers of this Summer. The aroma of this produce of the vine smelled of Earth and Life and of green photosynthesis. As my friend Jennifer Krause Bahrke said, "The aroma of Summer." There's no other way to describe it. The taste of the first tomato of the Summer is also beyond description. And how would one describe the taste of the first raspberry and blackberry?

Again, as for me, a confirmed sinner, but one who had been taught by a kindly mother to be kindly, I offer up the first fruits to those who are most important to me. I've written in the past how I would bring the first raspberries and blackberries to my Ma at the Homestead. The very first tomatoes, peas, and tomatoes go to My Ruthie. When she was small, I would also give my Punky, Amanda, my first pickings of berries as well. (Even last year, when she visited in June, I found some raspberries just for her) As I would say to her, quoting a line from a book I had read, "Ah, I can refuse you nothing!" After all this, I take some of the next pickings to my friends Dana and Tammy at work and then the rest I use for our common consumption. There was a quote I read somewhere that said in effect that making a gift of the Summer's first tomatoes to someone says more about your feelings towards that person than any words can express. Ironically, and I've described this in one of my first blogs, the ensuing over-abundance of tomatoes later in the year led to surreptitious deliveries of garden produce to unsuspecting neighbors who were absent from their front yards and porches. It's ironic, to my way of thinking, how what can be so prized and so precious early in the season can become so unwanted later. (Please scroll up for Part II)

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

07/30/2014 08:33.30 PM Report This Comment  
  Hospitality
Hospitality is the very essence of Southern heritages - something that we are taught, beginning when we are just minutes from being born. It begins in the heart and then works its way out from there. It is the epitome of the Southern lifestyle and considered one of the major sins if it is not offered to family, friends, neighbors and strangers alike. I just recently completed a women's Bible study called 'A Life That Says Welcome' by Karen Ehman. She took us from the very heart of hospitality - your home - right out into the trenches of strangers. Hebrews 13:2 puts that into perspective, telling us that by entertaining strangers we may be unwittingly entertaining angels. As much as people want to believe that it is a dying art, it really isn't. Being from the city, and moving to the farm, I had the exact opposite reaction. I have long been told that by moving out into the country, I should expect isolation and unfriendly people who have a natural 'distrust' of strangers. In the city, I found countless examples of goodness in people, and was reluctant to move away from that 'security blanket'. How delighted I was to find that I worried needlessly! Randy and I were welcomed with open arms and we found even more avenues to either offer hospitality or to be on the receiving end. I truly believe that it all boils down to where your heart is, and that you usually receive back 10 times what you give. If it doesn't start with a willing heart, then you probably won't find much of it, mainly because you aren't willing to believe in it, give it or accept it. Absolutely excellent post, Gary. This one has spoken directly to this Southern Girl's heart, and I look forward to the next post. Tell me again - are you SURE you aren't a Southern boy???? You sure do SOUND like one! (For anyone else reading this Comment, please know that I am all too well aware that Northerners (or Yankees, as we down here in the South LOVINGLY call y'all) are just as hospitable as we are - I've never met Gary face to face, but he is my emissary to the North, and through words he has offered all kinds of hospitality to me. It's just that I have to get a dig in to Gary every now and then! One more thought - there is still a pitcher of homemade Lemonade and a plate of tea cakes waiting on the virtual porch for your visit to the farm, Gary!

Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.

07/27/2014 06:16.39 AM Report This Comment  
  Country Hospitality, Part I
After 50 some odd years of living I've found that there are truths and lies to the term "Country Hospitality". I think that we country folks have been taught to believe that out here "in the sticks" folks want to help one another and that they are giving and forgiving in a true Christian sense. Furthermore, we've been taught that city folks are grasping and unfriendly, more ready to take advantage of a neighbor than to help him. A good example of this mindset can be found in Willa Cather's famous short story, "Neighbor Rosicky": "If he'd had a mean boy, now, one who was crooked and sharp and tried to put anything over on his brothers, then town would be the place for him."

In my experience I've found that there tends to be more neighborliness among country folks simply because they are separated more by distance and therefore less likely to grate on each other. Having a neighbor a quarter-mile away mowing his grass at seven a.m. is different than him doing the same thing next to your bedroom window in the suburbs. In short, the actions of your neighbor decreases in effect proportionally to the distance you live from him. I do believe that in the country it is incumbent upon a man to show his worth and manliness by helping people in distress. Even a relatively "bad" man out here seems to know that his manhood would be questioned even by other "bad" men should he refuse to help a neighbor stranded on the side of the road or worse yet, someone's child in trouble or in danger. Simply put; if you want to be considered a man by Countrymen, you better be willing to help your neighbors.

Now I have to admit that in the city of Green Bay, folks are quick to help you. Being a mailman, I found that during the Winter, whenever my Postal vehicle is immobilized by ice or snow, nearly always someone will come out or stop to help me get out. But I submit that Green Bay is still a "small town city" and especially if folks are at least acquainted with you, they'll usually help out.

All the examples that I've just given has to do with helping someone with whom you are at least acquainted, but I am made to think that the true test of hospitality is when we are called to help out a stranger. (More about this next time. --Gary)

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

07/26/2014 07:56.06 PM Report This Comment  
  Summer Evening
As usual (comme d'habitude, as my ancestors would've put it) I had but one hour this evening available to catch up on tasks here at La Ferme Sabloneuse. I have to admit, I was gratified with what I'd accomplished. Upon returning home from visiting Ma at the nursing home my Ruthie told me that the expected thunderstorms were going to pass to our South and that we would miss out on the rain. I decided, therefore, to water this year's cultivated patch in the valley garden. Starting at a little after 7 pm I ran out two lengths of connected hose down our hill and spent a half-hour irrigating that particular garden. The recent hot spell had caused the sweet corn to tassel out and set out rich, red corn silk. I also noticed one or two pollinated pumpkin blossoms. Thus, I thought it necessary to give the plants enough moisture to ensure that it would survive this temporary dry spell and give up a good yield. After I rolled the hose back up the hill I noticed that the wild raspberries had ripened around the wooden shed in my front woods and I decided to pick some of them. Finally, I had just enough time to pick some yarrow plants that had infested what we call the "Bear Garden". (The yarrows have also started to bloom among the hostas on the slope next to the garage porch but this year I'm leaving them because I think that they too, have a beauty all their own.)

At a little after 8 pm I was thoroughly tuckered out and ready to go in for the night. I sat for a moment in the garage porch and listened to the young goldfinches soar in clockwise circles over the backyard hill as is their wont, joyfully celebrating their newfound ability to fly. After a minute or two, I retired for the evening.

It was a wonderful Summer evening. While I was working, I was reminded that a suburbanite can enjoy a Summer's eve while sitting on his porch. A Countryman however, has to learn to enjoy the evening while attending to his land. --Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

07/23/2014 08:41.03 PM Report This Comment  
  Summer Sunday Afternoon
Great work, Gary! I love a good storm, especially in summer! I think storms are a way of reminding us to slow down and just enjoy life!

Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.

07/20/2014 06:23.33 AM Report This Comment  
  Summer Sunday Afternoon, The Tempest, Part III
I watched the silvery undersides of the poplar leaves for a moment or two, and the storm hit. Victor Hugo's famous poem, "The Djinns" describes such a storm far better than I ever could:

"Wild cries of hell! voices that howl and shriek!
The horrid swarm before the tempest tossed—
O Heaven!—descends my lowly roof to seek:
Bends the strong wall beneath the furious host.

Totters the house, as though, like dry leaf shorn
From autumn bough and on the mad blast borne,
Up from its deep foundations it were torn
To join the stormy whirl. Ah! all is lost!"

I don't want to sound snobby, but even as fine a translation as this one loses something in the process. Anyways, the sheets of rain pounded the ground as the winds blew the smaller trees almost horizontal. It rained so hard that even the sandy soil of La Ferme Sabloneuse could not absorb it fast enough and the water ran in rivulets down the hill from the houses to the out-buildings. For a full fifteen minutes the storm raged, thunder and lightning, wind and deluge, until the peals of thunder started coming out of the East and the rain began to slacken. In short order the clouds began to raise and lighten in color and the wind died down. In another few minutes the birds began to sing, the robins especially, as if to announce to all that the storm had passed. As the overcast skies cleared I could see the white thunderheads again, only this time in the East, like the Nordic frost giants of myth, striding into the distance.

The Sun came out again, shining on the wet leaves and grass, making them reflect its light like innumerable glass orbs. The air smelled cool, clean, and fresh. While I could still hear the now distant thunder to the East, the torrid Summer Sunday afternoon had now turn to a cool and breezy Summer evening, perfect to go out after supper and play some softball. -- Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

07/19/2014 07:49.36 PM Report This Comment  
  Summer Sunday Afternoon, The Tempest, Part II
Once home I had to think on what would be a good vantage point from which to watch the storm. The recessed front porch had only a limited view; great as a semi-sheltered den for watching snowstorms but not open enough for witnessing the storm of the Summer. The best place, I decided, was in the Old House with the garage door opened. The Old House (subject of a future set of blogs) had been converted to a garage. One could sit just inside out of the worst of the rain and look out over the entire garden valley, the apple orchard, and the hill beyond (which is now my own backyard on the home property). The Old House still had all of its original windows (as it still does to this very day) so I could see in three directions.

Inside the Old House it was sweltering, but already the wind was picking up out of the West and the sky was lowering and glowering, getting darker by the minute. I opened the back door that looked out to the wooden shed and then set up a chair at the main entry. The cross-breeze immediately blew in from the superheated shed through the Old House and in a few moments I was as cool as if the garage had been air-conditioned. I can only describe it as satisfying to feel the building and its adjoining shed being cooled 30 degrees in ten minutes by the katabatic winds swooping down from the jet stream at the tops of the thunderheads. The thunder increased in volume and tempo as I counted after each lightning flash until I was startled in spite of myself by the expected "boom!". "One second for every thousand feet" was what I was taught to be the speed of sound and how to gauge the distance of a storm. When the lightning flash and thunder blast became almost simultaneous the winds whipped up into a roar, bending the pines and poplars eastward while the first few big drops fell. The last thing I usually notice before a thunderstorm hits is how the undersides of the poplar leaves show up all silver in the wind. Many years ago, while taking an Astronomy class in the Air Force, I did a paper on book about natural weather predicting and the author stated that this was one of the signs of an approaching thunderstorm. The author warned the reader that because this occurred just before a storm broke, the warning was akin to telling a man he was going to fall to his death as he was passing the fifth floor window! (Please scroll up for Part III)

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

07/19/2014 07:46.52 PM Report This Comment  
  Summer Sunday Afternoon, The Tempest, Part I
There was a wonderful quote by Henry James that was posted on Facebook the other day by my dear friend 'berta which stated “Summer afternoon--- summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.”

I'd have to agree. Each one of us could regale the rest with a special memory of such an afternoon. I remember one in the Summer of '73, a Sunday afternoon that was so hot that this fourteen year-old boy had no desire to play softball nor go fishing, much less work out in the fields (though, I have to admit, Pa and Ma were sticklers about not doing unnecessary work on the Sabbath). I spent an hour listening to the Brewer's game on radio in the bedroom until the heat drove me out into the shade of the "Great Maple" in the front yard next to the "Old House". I listened to the game for another hour until the static from the approaching thunderstorms rendered my little transistor AM radio useless. At that point I could see the massive thunderheads approaching from the West. Despite the heat, I took my bicycle out to the top of a hill where I could see all the cumulonimbus clouds in all their glory. They were multi-colored, blue-black at the bottoms, laden with raindrops, and then brightening until they were brilliantly white at the tops, sometimes up to 60,000 feet in altitude. When they finally blotted out the Sun I turned back home. (Please scroll up for part II)

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

07/19/2014 07:40.27 PM Report This Comment  
  Culling, Part IV
Now as for bunnies, we're having a tremendous crop of new-borns here at La Ferme Sabloneuse. All the rabbits are safe at this time of year. My Ruthie is always chagrined when she sees me on my hands and knees in the grass a few feet away from a young rabbit, talking to it and seeing just how close it will let me get. There's an adult rabbit that I'll find every morning under the bird feeder as I make my way to the garage and it will stay and watch me as I fill the feeder. I tell it that for now, we are friends, but, as the bunny population expands geometrically, I shall be forced to do some hunting/culling come Winter, (See "Free Range Bunnies" August of 2012).

Just today, My Ruthie, Andrew, and Liz were all kneeling on the living room couch next to the bay window, watching three very young rabbit kittens feeding, playing, and taking dust baths in the front yard. I am glad that I'm able to provide habitat for wildlife here at La Ferme Sabloneus; it is, after all, the "mission statement" of my HobbyFarms blog site. I certainly do not consider them to be vermin, even if they do attack the flower beds on occasion. I do, however, consider them as a partially domesticated and totally consumable product of our farm. They too, must be culled, but unlike vermin, they are valued and nurtured and I am gratified that I can provide them with a rich habitat at La Ferme Sabloneuse. --Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

07/12/2014 06:59.14 PM Report This Comment  
  Culling, Part III
(Gary's note: If anyone is offended by the killing of any animal, you might want to skip this post)

About a year ago I began a series of blog posts on culling, c'est-a-dire (that is to say) the destruction of some organisms in order to aid the growth of others that we humans subjectively decide are more desirable. In the garden and out in the fields it's a no-brainer. We weed out anything that we haven't planted. The definition of a weed is simply that it's a plant that grows where it's not wanted. I don't want to insult any reader's intelligence by giving examples, but still, I feel moved to point out while lamb's quarter and pigweed are unwanted among the crop rows, they are highly prized and useful when harvested along the edge of the fields and fed to pigs and ducks.

You get the idea. When talking about weeding, it's a universally-accepted given. When talking about animals however, things get quite a bit more dicey. Vegans would argue that it is wrong for us to impose our needs on any other animal, much less killing them for our needs. As a countryman, I know better. I suppose I could try to address the arguments that those folks offer, but what would be the point? In this venue, (c'est-a-dire, a countryman's blog) I'm writing to those of a kindred spirit. In addition to "culling the herd" or "culling the flock" which is simply using our God-given intellect to choose the best to breed, we must also protect the herd and/or flock by killing predating and parasitic species which threaten them.

As I must've mentioned last year, the species that I subjectively classify as "vermin" are chipmunks, red squirrels, starlings, grackles, and cowbirds. I kill them all when I can. I have an old-fashioned hand-pumped single shot pellet gun that I keep on the table in the garage porch. In other years past, I've used Eldest Brother David's .22 revolver with a single short round in the cylinder or Pa's .22 auto with a ten round mag. This year I must've killed over twenty chipmunks so far. I've killed a couple of starlings and after I learned that some grey squirrels were wrecking my bird feeder, I brought out the .410 shotgun and dispatched one of those as well. (Please scroll up for Part IV)

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07/12/2014 06:58.03 PM Report This Comment  
  Big Fish
I wish I had Mrs. Ruthie's 'look', because I got stuck with a huge deer head in my entry way! Loved the story, Gary!

Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.

07/06/2014 07:15.56 PM Report This Comment  
  Knee-high by the Fourth
Okay, we've discussed this before but every year at this time we countrymen and women pause and take stock of how our crops are doing compared with previous years. That's why for decades country folks have bought large calendars with enough room to pencil in the pertinent information of each day: temps, weather, and which crops have sprouted. One can always be sure that on the Fourth of July, the height of the corn was recorded. As I've must've mentioned in the past, the "knee-high" metric was applied over 200 years ago to corn and while the phrase has survived unto our times the genetic quality of maize has been doubled and re-doubled to growth and yields that would have astounded our country forbears.

At La Ferme Sabloneuse, the corn is at knee-high and above. Considering that I planted almost two weeks late, I am gratified at the progress. The peas are blossoming and I was able to do the first cutting of lettuce for a 4th of July Salad. While cutting some brush and new growth along the lawn's edge at the Homestead I noticed that my blackcaps have been pollinated and are forming up nicely. I have green tomatoes and the beginnings of bell peppers. All in all I cannot complain about how my gardens are doing.

As for the flowers, I've seen the first wild tiger lilies blooming and our own garden variety tiger lilies (or Turkmen's Cap) are unfolding as well. The tiger lilies, along with the black-eyed Susans, are the first flowers of High Summer. Today I saw the first 'Susans' and my oft-praised daisies are still hanging in there (much to my delight!). I can also report that the first marsh milkweeds and harebells are unfolding as well. (The two newest photos are of the daisies and tiger lillies near our garage at the home property) It's been a happy 4th of July and I am optimistic about the rest of our growing season. --Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

07/05/2014 08:50.15 PM Report This Comment  
  Big Fish, Part II
It wasn't until a few years ago that Eldest Brother David told me that the plywood painting still existed and sat among the stowed items in the hall's upper story. For the last 40 some years the parish ran a Wednesday rummage sale at the hall during the warm months of the year. David, during his retired years, ran the bookstore. Anyways, once a year or so, I would visit him at the hall and go up and look at the big fish.

Last Wednesday night dear Belle Soeur Susie dropped by to tell me that the folks at the hall were going to clean out the storage and that if I wanted the "Big Fish", I could have it, only that I'd better get it out of there soon. So I got Andrew and we went down to the hall and hauled the plywood board down from the second floor and brought it home. I had My Ruthie take a few pics of it and then last Friday when I picked up Tommy to visit Ma at the nursing home I told him to bring along a pair of gloves because I had a surprise for him. When we returned to my place and I showed him the painting, I was chagrined to find that Tommy didn't want it. He said that he had no place to put it. I was okay with that. What Tommy told me later is that his internal voice was screaming, "You told me to bring gloves because you said you had a present for me! I thought I was gonna get a nice hot casserole dish that Ruthie made but instead, you're giving me an ugly fish on a plywood board?" (The latest photo on this site is of Tommy and me with the Big Fish in front of my garage.)

When I told my Ruthie that Tommy said that I could keep the painting her immediate response was, "Uh, you could keep it down in Bill's Shack." (You can find a photo of "Bill's Shack" on pg 3 of photos on this blog site, the fourth photo. To read a description of it, please refer to my blog post of 10-23-2012.) In response to my puzzled look she added, "Don't get me wrong. I understand what it means to you, but it's just a big fish on a board!" I was okay with that too.

Come to think of it, when I remarked to Susie that I wished that I had brought the painting to Eldest Brother David a few years back so that he might've enjoyed it; her noncommittal response must've hidden her own internal voice shouting, "Like I would've wanted to see that ugly big fish on a board staring at me every time I drove into our garage!"

So now Pa's Big Fish swims alone in the shadows of Bill's Shack. Tommy said that he would've liked to have told me that it was fitting that the lasting creations of those two men were united; but that it sounded so much like New Age psycho-babble that he never could've said it with a straight face. Still, I suppose that whenever I feel the need, I can walk down there and take a look at it. The Big Fish is back where it was spawned, even if I'm the only one who really appreciates it. --Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

07/02/2014 08:41.21 PM Report This Comment  
  Big Fish
Back in the late 1950s and early 60s our St. Patrick Parish used to have its annual Church Bazaar each Summer. The Bazaar took place in and around the old "Woodmen's Hall" that had been bought by the parish. As the youngest, I remember less than most but I do remember the old church hall being as hot as heck while scores of folks lined up to eat my Aunt Jenny's cooking. Big Brother Tommy told me how he remembered her slaving and sweating for the multiple and massive gas ranges as she directed the "church ladies" in order to feed perhaps 200 people. Aunt Jenny hardly ever went to church, but she was the "go to gal" for Father Geenen when it came to running an operation such as this one.

Now my Pa and Uncle John Larson ran the "fish pond". It was a stall under a tent where the kids would pay a dime and then take a toy fishing pole and toss the line over a high piece of plywood. Me and my brothers would sit on the other side hid from view by the plywood and canvas and listen for Pa or Uncle John to say, "Well here's a nice young man (or lass) that wants to fish!" We would then attach the appropriate toy and tug on the line. I felt important sitting in the cool, grassy shade amongst all those cheap, brightly colored, plastic toys. (I'll be darned if I can remember what a single one looked like, all I know is that they were wrapped in cellophane and were nicer than anything I could afford and the thought never entered my head to filch one because I would've shamed Ma and Pa.) Sometimes my brother Wayne would look through the crack in the plywood and see who the kid was that was fishing. If he didn't like him or her (and there seemed to be plenty that he didn't) he would put the crappiest toy he could find on the line.

The reason for this story is the big fish that Pa painted on the front of the plywood. One year he decided that he wanted to paint. At first he got the old "paint-by-numbers" kits to do during the Winter. Then, one Summer as the Bazaar approached, he decided to paint a musky on the big plywood front. Using the cover of a Field & Stream magazine as a model, he spent weeks painting the big fish in painstaking detail. I don't know if he ever got any compliments on it but he sure was proud of his painting! (Part II will appear this Wednesday. --Gary)

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06/28/2014 08:30.07 PM Report This Comment  
  Wonderful!
The essence of all your posts, Gary, are a reflection on how we as a society really need to slow down a bit, so we don't miss out on the true beauties of life. Keep searching, and posting, about your quest for new blooms, new life and new growth in your garden, because it is also reflecting life at its finest in the same way. (Excellent quote, Roberta!)

Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.

06/22/2014 07:49.53 AM Report This Comment  
  Midsummer
Just like last year, this Summer's growth is late. Still my strawberries are at their peak and the hairy vetch is blossoming. The blackberries and raspberries are just now opening up, as I had predicted in my last posting. All the usual wildflowers of this time of year have made their expected, yet still wondrous appearances: white campion, harebells, wild geraniums and anemones, basically the same that I've mentioned at this time each of the past two years.

I am afraid that I might alienate the precious few readers of these posts by simply writing about what flowers have bloomed and when. Still, I am reminded of Katsumoto's line in "The Last Samurai: "The perfect blossom is a rare thing. You could spend your life looking for one, and it would not be a wasted life." So it is, I think, in the life of a true Countryman or Woman. Just simply observing and recording the events of a year in Nature could never be a waste of time.

The fireflies are now out in full force. As our friend Liz posted, they light up the fields like so many blinking Christmas tree lights. Unfortunately, the hated rosebugs, (Japanese beetles) have appeared as well. Two nights ago I sprayed our rosebush, which, like last year, is ready to produce an extraordinary amount of flowers. I can only hope to save enough of the pale pink roses to take one or two in for My Ruthie and for Ma in the nursing home.

The last thought I'd like to leave you in this year's Midsummer posting is a quote that our friend 'berta shared tonight. It's by a lady who goes by the name of "Starhawk" (I love that!): "Happy Summer Solstice! Summer Solstice, the longest day and shortest night of the year, when the sun reaches its peak, but then begins to decline. Solstice reminds us that the wheel must always turn, all things must pass, the flower must fade for the fruit to form. So love it all the more, and appreciate more deeply those moments of perfect beauty, knowing they will fade away like the sunset. And yet, like the sunrise, always they return again." -- Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

06/21/2014 07:47.40 PM Report This Comment  
  June, Part II
This post could also be titled "Bugs and Blooms, Part II" Entering into mid-June, my gardens are taking off. The bridal wreaths, perhaps the most unsung bloom of Summer, are unfolding everywhere and those who've managed to keep their peonies safe from the assault of the ants are enjoying those blooms as well. Both the wild and tame columbine are also out in force for their own short-lived magnificence.

The snowball tree next to the garage is shedding its petals. The flower bed next to the garage will soon have a delicate white carpet for a week or so before it is blown away by the Summer breezes. And the daisies! How I love them! As I did last year, I purposely mowed around patches of them in the lawn and now they are all opening. The same goes for the orange and yellow hawkweed; they too are opening in any and all un-mowed ground at La Ferme Sabloneuse. So what blooms are "on deck"? Why the blackberry and raspberry blossoms! You wouldn't think they would give out much of a scent, but, as I alluded to a few posts back, there are so many in our front woods that on a warm wet night you can almost drink in their flavor.

Now as for bugs; still no fireflies, which I can hardly believe, but the June bugs are out. I remember when I was a boy pedaling my bike home in the late evening those June bugs would fly in out of the darkness and whack me in the head so hard I thought they were shot from a gun!

While I love late Summer, Autumn, and late Autumn the best, I am now, in the September of my life, only now willing to admit how much I love (and envy) the early Summer of June. --Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

06/14/2014 07:46.23 PM Report This Comment  
  June, Part I
Last year I had written about the magic of June, at least to schoolboys like Tommy and me way back when. This year I have to say that as a result of the worst Winter of my life, this June means more to me than any before. The other night I absolutely treasured the evening song of the robin in our front yard. As I'd mentioned a year ago, this song only lasts until the end of June. The same goes for the Oriole and the Rose-breasted Grosbeak. Knowing all too well that this time is all too fleeting, I treasure it; I treasure it; there's no other word that describes it so well. As I get older and realize that each Summer is closer to a final Summer, I treasure it all the more. My Ruthie, in her inimitable way, can capture the treasures of each year with her camera. For me, I try to hold on to the sights, sounds, and smells by writing down what I love about June.

Of course this has been done better by others. The poem "What is So Rare As a Day in June" by James Russell Lowell puts into verse what I can only feel inside. I've selected two verses that I think apply best:

"Now is the high-tide of the year,
And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; ...."

"... Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Everything is happy now,
Everything is upward striving;
'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,..."

More about June next time. -- Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

06/11/2014 08:37.26 PM Report This Comment  
  Lovely
Your portion of the world sounds beautiful, Gary. Once again, I am going to encourage you to write a book. You, Amanda and Roberta can do one together - I'll even be the first to buy one! (And I'll offer to help with YOUR book proposal - quid pro quo!)

Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.

06/08/2014 06:13.29 AM Report This Comment  
  Bugs and Blooms
This year the lilacs have lasted only a short while. I always try to walk along the row of bushes which border our backyard on the Home Hill a few times while they are in bloom. Malheureusement, (sadly) some individual florets have failed to open while most of the rest have started to wilt. Even Big Brother Tommy has noticed the very same thing. He told me of his dismay that he wouldn't be able to take any more lilac cuttings to Ma's room in the nursing home, (That this ol' bear of a manly man is now talking to me about his concern over the demise of scented bouquets for our mother is something that I find amusing but won't let on.)

Neamoins (nevertheless) in my last post I stated how I'd hoped that these blooms would last longer this year. Malheureusement, the opposite is true, at least with the lilacs.

But it's the same with some of my other favorite blooms. The pin cherry tree blossoms lasted only two or three days as did the apple and crab apple trees. But in their place the snow bush (tree) next to the garage is coming into full bloom and the strawberries are doing the same. I've also noticed that the wild roses have come out this week as well. I am anticipating the next floral arrival, the blackberry and raspberry blossoms. Although three weeks late like everything else, they will scenten the warm wet night air of early Summer here at La Ferme Sabloneuse

Our friend "'berta", who's a kindred spirit to my Ruthie and me, is keeping us up to date on which insects have come out so far this growing season. So far she's spotted a cicada way earlier than one would expect, and both she and we noticed the first chirps of the crickets this last week. I don't know if the crickets are early or not, but I do know that they are most noticeable in late August and early September. We all concur that we've not seen a firefly yet this year, which is dramatically later than normal.

So here's to bugs and blooms. I submit that watching the fireflies on a moist, warm June night while smelling the sweet scent of blackberry blossoms is veritably a piece of Heaven on Earth. --Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

06/07/2014 06:58.20 PM Report This Comment  
  Country Evening & Gratification
Beautiful, Gary. My mama would be a wee bit jealous, as Lilacs are her favorite flower and they will not grow down here. Good luck on your garden - I hope it produces more abundantly than your dreams can hold!

Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.

06/06/2014 05:42.42 AM Report This Comment  
  Gratification
One evening a couple of months ago, as I was sorting through the mail-order seeds that My Ruthie had ordered, my son Andrew and his girlfriend Liz came up from his "man cave" in the basement. "We're hungry." He explained with a smile.
I smiled back and tossed him a package of sweet corn seed. "Here," I told him, "plant these and in less than three months you'll have more than enough to eat." Andrew wasn't amused but Liz, being a farmer's daughter, thought it was funny.
A Countryman knows that there is no such thing as "instant gratification". Since the Fall of Adam, when God told him, "By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food ..." (Genesis 3-19), country folks have learned that you have to be patient when working the land. How many of us have planted perennials, shrubs and trees knowing full well that it will take months, years, and even decades before we see the final result. Indeed, the two quotes that come to mind are: "He who plants trees benefits another generation." -- Caecilius Statius, and “The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now.” – Chinese Proverb
I had related in a past blog how Pa had planted Norway pine seedlings during the last year of his life. He explained to Ma that it would make good cover for deer hunting. Ma asked him, "Do you think that you'll live forever?"
"I can try!" was Pa's retort. While I truly believe that it was Pa's intention to live for a good long while (after all, his mother lived to be 98) I think that he also felt the call to improve the land that was his. I think that it is a visceral urge of every Countryman and woman to leave their property more viable and vibrant (c'est-a-dire) more full of life, than when they first acquired it. Lord knows that my Ruthie and I have spent the last 28 years trying to do the same thing on our home property.

I find that despite my earlier statements in this posting, I must admit that, like every year at this time, I am surprised at how fast the growing season can leave a gardener in its wake. In less than a week after I'd planted the gardens, beans and corn were already poking through the soil. This week I was already behind in the second mowing and first weed whacking of the year. I also must put on netting on the Valley Garden within the next week or risk the deer nipping off the corn and squash shoots.

So, in a paradox of logic; while I patiently await the growth of this year's crops, I am hard pressed to keep up with the tasks of early Summer. -- Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

06/04/2014 08:15.50 PM Report This Comment  
  Country Evening
This year, more than ever before, I find myself glorying (yes, glorying, if it can be used as a gerund) in Spring. As I've probably said before, this last Winter was the worst in my memory. As a result, these last two weeks of fine weather has been like balm to my soul.

Right now, the apple trees, crab apples, lilacs, and creeping phlox are all in full bloom. When I was mowing grass at the Homestead, the Southern breeze would bring to me the strong lilac scent from Ma's big bush (tree) in the front yard. When I was filling the birdbaths at my own place I noticed for the first time, how my Ruthie's creeping phlox filled the air with their sweetness.

Perhaps because of the severity of the past Winter, and the lateness of this Spring, I also find myself wishing that these blooms would last longer than just a week or so. I know that the growing season is pushing along full bore, as if making up for lost time, but I am a little gun-shy from last Winter and I am wistful in wishing that this Summer would go by a little slower.

Nevertheless, I am enjoying this time of year. One evening this week at sunset, I walked along all our lilac bushes (and there's quite a few!). I then checked the vegetable gardens and was encouraged by all the new growth poking up. As the sun disappeared in the Northwest sky and the mosquitoes came out in droves, I was about to go inside when a skein of geese flew right over my hill. It was so quiet I could hear the flapping of their wings. I was so moved by it all that I raised my arms in joy and triumph at just being alive and allowed to experience the rebirth of another country year. --Gary

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05/31/2014 08:07.22 PM Report This Comment  
  Beautiful
As usual, this is a heartfelt post, and I so enjoyed it. I'm getting ready to till up a flower bed right by the house, and you've given me an idea. It will be a memory garden. In honor of your daddy and brother, I will plant some Rosemary (for remembrance) in amongst the daisies, zinnias and lavender that I'll plant in memory of my aunts Dot and Emily and my farming mentor, Kathleen. They loved the simplicity of those flowers. If you and Mrs. Ruthie have a favorite flower (that will grow here in the South), let me know and I'll tuck some in as well!

Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.

05/25/2014 06:51.31 AM Report This Comment  
  Honoring the Dead, Part II
Honoring the Dead. The axe had belonged to My Ruthie's father George. The only writing stamped on it reads: "Cold Forged". I estimate that it must be over a century old. As I sat in the garage porch sharpening it I prayed to ol' George to safeguard me against any mishap and to ask God to help me in my work on the land. Now the "Cumberland Trail" was what David and Ma had named the path that led past the apple orchard in the valley up the eastern part of my Home Hill and then over to David's property. David and Belle Soeur Susie had in the past kept the trail open. The three scraps of plowed ground was what David had prepared last year in hopes of attracting deer for that year's hunting season. It hadn't turned out that way, as you now know. We never hunted last Autumn.

So on that day I honored the dead. I used George's axe to help me clear the Cumberland as I pushed the wheelbarrow throughout the length of La Ferme Sabloneuse, planting three or four pumpkins seeds in each of the plots that David had plowed out and then sprinkling Miracle Grow on them. On one of the plots I saw that last year's deposit of detritus had caused lettuce plants and apple seedlings to sprout. Knowing full well that it was false hope, I fertilized those as well.

I honored the dead; by using their tools, their desires, and what was important both to them and their loved ones to carry on in our stewardship of the land. It is to me the best way to keep them alive in my heart. --Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

05/24/2014 08:36.42 PM Report This Comment  
  Honoring the Dead, Part I
This Monday, as I do every year, I will attend a special Mass at St. Patrick's and then walk over to the Stiles cemetery and watch the elderly gentlemen of American Legion Post 523 render honors. This was the post that Pa and Eldest Brother David had belonged to. Pa was it's Commander back in the 70's and Big Brother Tommy and I used to help him put the flags on the graves. On Monday, the Legion Commander will tell the honor guard detail to: "Honor the Dead."

Honoring the Dead. Those few who follow these postings know that this Memorial Day will mean even more than usual. It is the first that Eldest Brother will have a flag over his grave. This afternoon I got My Ruthie to come with me and take a photo of his grave. I had been worried that the Legion folks wouldn't know to put one on. A few years past, the Memorial Day after my first cousin Paul Truckey had passed, there wasn't a flag over his grave and I know it upset his extended family, including me. I hadn't had to worry with David's flag. It's fluttering brightly over a shiny new American Legion flag stand. Just feet away, Pa's flag is fluttering as well. It did my heart good to see it.

Honoring the Dead. We do it in many ways. The other day I had planted the gardens. Then, late in the day, as the Sun was setting amidst a warm Southern wind, I put the remainder of my pumpkins seeds, a trowel, some Miracle Grow, an axe, a set of branch clippers and a saw in a wheelbarrow and I set out to do two things: To clear out the undergrowth that threatened to close in on the Cumberland Trail and to plant pumpkin seeds in the three patches of ground that Eldest Brother had plowed out last year in front of his deer towers. (Please scroll up for Part II)

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

05/24/2014 08:32.20 PM Report This Comment  
  Putzing
When I do that, Randy says I'm scatterbrained! We've had beautiful days lately to do just that, though, and my spring to do list is filling up. Enjoy this beautiful weather, Gary!

Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.

05/22/2014 03:37.26 AM Report This Comment  
  Spring Putzing
I had tried to find an earlier blog of mine that had to do with "putzing". I know that it had to do with trying to start one job and then continuing to find other jobs cropping up as I plugged along. This Spring is no different. Much to my amusement, I found that as time and weather finally permitted me to start working on tasks outdoors, I discovered more jobs to do.

One night after work I started to pick up the fallen branches from the big birch in the backyard. It was then that I noticed that the first asparagus sprouts were coming up. Looking at these made me also see that all the raised garden beds needed to be turned over and that the garden itself had to be roto-tilled, along with the patch of garden I want to cultivate in the Valley Garden. When I came in from outside I saw the cardboard box containing the blueberry seedling that I had ordered sitting on the table.

Soooo....... during the next few evenings after work I got the roto-tiller from Belle-Soeur Susie and I ran it through the gardens that I will use this year. I also spaded over the raised beds and on a rainy evening planted the blueberry plant. Finally, one night last week I posted the following:

"Worked ten hours today, then, when I got home I fertilized the garden, planted snow peas, started some peat pots of pumpkins and squash, cleaned out last year's asparagus growth, put up some fencing for my blueberry seedling, and then sat for a few minutes and watched the Tree Sparrows work on the feeder. Now it's Kessler's and Leinenkugel's and waiting for the Castle Season Finale."

Spring Putzing. It is basically bouncing from one task to another, using it all as an excuse to enjoy being outdoors during Springtime. --Gary

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

05/21/2014 07:37.02 PM Report This Comment  
  Wow!
Thank you, Amanda. Thank you for such a lovely image. I could almost here the children's laughter! We also love the idea of a simple life such as that, and often try to include as much of it as we can. So, do I now need to start pestering you to start writing, like I do your dad? I can see where you get your way with words. Gary - she's a keeper. And if you ever want to put her up for adoption, Randy and I could surely use a new daughter with farm experience!

Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.

05/18/2014 07:16.44 AM Report This Comment  
  Farming, Old and New, Part II
The sun was out, the grass was finally green, the sky blue as can be with big fluffy white clouds. There were the gorgeous horses calmly grazing, happy kids playing in the yard, a mother-like woman was outside seeming to plan out the garden for the summer, while the man of the house was fixing a fence. It was like something off a modern day Norman Rockwell- like greeting card. It was just so peaceful, and calming, and happy.

I am not a crier. I don't cry unless the situation really warrants it. But on this day, even my tough outward appearance had to crack a bit and allow a few minutes of tear-filled eyes at the beautiful picture before me. The scene I had witnessed allowed me a brief glimpse into a simpler lifestyle, while I was driving my brand new GPS controlled tractor that drives itself, pulling a brand new vertical till. I will keep that vision tucked in away in my head for the rest of my life. Moments like that are a rare beauty and the power of those moments can make a bad day seem a little bit better and easier. --Amanda Truckey

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

05/17/2014 07:15.29 PM Report This Comment  
  Farming, Old and New, Part I
As every farmer knows, field work has started across the country, of course leading into the chaotic planting season. With so many fields that our farming company has, crews get split up into different areas. Matt and I were assigned to what is simply called “The Farm” The Farm isn't a farm, it's more of a collection of a few dozen pivots that are close to each other and located by one of our sets of grain bins and a grain dryer. The Farm is located about fifteen miles north across the South Dakota border. The road system in rural South Dakota is a rough one, filled with mostly dirt and gravel roads that could be smooth one day and an absolute rough mess the next.

A weeks ago Matt and I were working some land bordering a Hutterite colony. [Editor's (or rather, Gary's) note:] "Hutterites are a communal branch of Anabaptists who, like the Amish and Mennonites, trace their roots to the Radical Reformation of the 16th Century" --Wikipedia] We started working the end of the field farthest from the main house and a few small barns. By the time we worked our way to the near edge of it, I witnessed one of the most peaceful scenes that I've seen in awhile. There were a few perfectly fenced and kept horse pastures. A few of them had a couple beautiful horses in it just lazily grazing. They looked so content and well-taken-care of; their coats were just gleaming in the sun. One of the pastures had three or so fat miniature horses in it. About six or so children had wandered over, crawled up on the fence and were sitting on it watching Matt and I. There was one little boy who was too small and young to get up there, so an older boy about fourteen jumped down and helped him up, then sat him in his lap. Every time we passed they would wave frantically, so I would wave back and beep my horn at them. You could just see them all laugh like only little kids do. A little bit later a young girl (maybe four or so) came outside. I waved and honked at her too. She laughed, placing her hands over her mouth in joy. Then she went under the fence to the minis, and this chubby little bay who was clearly up in years with grey lining his face wandered over to her. This was clearly "her horse, his human". He went right up to her and nuzzled her face and bonnet covered hair, then nudged at her pockets in her dress clearly expecting a treat; you could just see her giggle happily. She clambered up on his back, he reached around, nudged her foot, waited for her to get settled, then went back to grazing. If he had to move, he would move slowly almost like he didn't want her to fall or anything. (Scroll up for part II)

Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).

05/17/2014 07:08.07 PM Report This Comment  
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