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| 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: 67 years old
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
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More on June
Big Brother Tommy and I were reminiscing about the magic of June when we were kids. Tommy remembered that as a child, June was his favorite month because it meant the end of school and the entire summer still lay ahead. Tom went on to say that to him, July meant that summer was passing and August meant the start of school.
I understand his feelings. Whenever I see the fireflies, I know that early Summer is passing into mid-Summer. For me, I would glory in the first week of Summer Vacation. (Notice the capital letters?) Then would come the weeks of hoeing. We would hoe the acre or two of field corn and then the acre of cucumbers (our cash crop in the late '60s and early '70s) and of course, the vegetable garden. Once we had hoed these fields twice, it was then late July, and time to "pick pickles".
"Picking pickles" defined the summers of my youth at La Ferme Sabloneuse. We would put in a full acre and pick half each day. All of us children and our Ma would pick. Due to a peasant riot, aided and abetted by Ma, Pa had to concede that Sunday was a day of rest. Except for Ma of course. She had to wash and clean in order to catch up on all the housework she couldn't do while "picking pickles."
But that was still in the future each June when I was a kid. At this time each year it was the sunrise coming in through our north-facing bedroom window at 5 am and sunset at 8:30 pm with lingering daylight in the northwest untill 10 pm. It was a time of birdsong and fishing with Pa and finally fireflies in the dusk. So some time this week I will sit with Big Brother Tommy on the steps of the corncrib like we used to when we were kids and we will remember Junes past. Even though we are now both in our mid-fifties, it will feel like we've never aged at all. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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06/15/2013 07:04.59 PM
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Lilacs
I think the one thing my mom misses most about living in Wisconsin is the lilacs. It's her favorite flower and they just will not grow here. It's even difficult to get any from florists. We got her a tree that is a 'mock' lilac, but although it's beautiful and blooms profusely, it still doesn't match up. Your 'prize' is going out Monday - sorry I'm behind in sending it but I've put in 12 to 17 hour days all last week between the Counseling offices and the Village. The auditors were there for 3 days, and Monday was Council Meeting, so I didn't have time to go to the post office. Plus, our closest ones is one of those that had it's hours cut to 4 hours a day. Difficult at best to get there to mail anything! When you do get it, I hope you enjoy it. Tell Mrs. Ruthie I said 'hi'!Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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06/09/2013 05:41.51 PM
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More on Lilacs
Hal Borland wrote that the Crusader knights brought back lilac sprigs in the late Middle Ages. Later research found out that the lilac varieties native to the Balkan peninsula were acquired by an ambassador of the Holy Roman Empire from representatives of the Ottoman Empire. It is thought that these, in turn, had been introduced from India. Lilac sprigs and shoots were then passed on to various horticulturists throughout Europe and amazingly it was discovered that it thrived in climates that were cooler than its original habitat. Studies discovered that the various lilac strains were grown on hillsides in the Balkans. It stands to figure that life on the higher elevations of the Balkan mountains enabled lilacs to readily adapt to northern latitudes.
Lilacs were probably introduced to England by British herbalist John Gerard. They flourished in their new habitat and in turn, were introduced to the American colonies in the 1700's. John Custis, father-in-law to Martha Washington, was a collector and cultivator of all sorts of plant varieties. He was one of a number of colonial herbalists who introduced new flora to the North American continent. Lilacs are hardy, grew in all types of soil, and could stand up to cold winters. In a sense, it was the wonder flower of the Colonial era; a shrub that was easy to propagate, (one only had to obtain a shoot from a neighbor) required little attention, and grew to the size of a small tree, sending out shoots of its own for re-propagation.
As a result, all over the northeast United States and southern Canada, lilac shrubs grew next to the doorways of numerable farmhouses. As Hal Borland and Corey Ford attested to, and as I've seen myself here in Northeast Wisconsin, one of the last surviving relics of an abandoned farmstead is a wizened lilac tree still pushing forth blooms next to a depression in the ground. In what is perhaps Corey Ford's best work, "The Road to Tinkhamtown," he writes, "Beside the doorstep was a lilac bush, almost as tall as the cottonwoods. He thought of the wife who had set it out, a little shrub then, and the husband who had chided her for wasting time on such frivolous things with all the farm work to be done. But the work had come to nothing, and still the lilac bloomed each spring, the one thing that had survived."
As for La Ferme Sabloneuse, there's Ma's enormous shrub at the homestead, and we have literally countless lilac bushes all about our place originating from Ruthie's family home. Across the hay field to Eldest Brother David's house, Dear Susie has her own collection of shrubs that are just now coming into their own. So, for almost two weeks, La Ferme Sabloneuse smells deep sweet and deep purple, thanks to the lilac. --GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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06/08/2013 07:36.19 PM
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Congratulations!
Just to let you know, you won the drawing at thefarmwife.com! Email me your address and I'll get it shipped to you this week. Oh. And I've decided that you really need to visit us during August - it will certainly change your mind about summer being your 2nd favorite. That is, if you survive the roasting temps and the cloying thick humidity! Still, once again I loved the post!Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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06/03/2013 06:22.08 PM
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Early Summer
While I love Autumn most, early Summer is my second favorite time of year. At this time of year, nature explodes with new life and promise. The ducks, turkeys, geese, and partridge have hatched out this year's young and the long winnowing process of predation will slowly reduce each brood to only three or four survivors. Each morning and evening the robins, orioles, grosbeaks sing their hearts out. I know that in a month, the birdsong at both ends of the day will diminish and I will notice the days have started to shorten. But for now, Summer is young, raucous, and noise-some with young life.
In addition to the birds, plant life is rife (pardon the poor rhyme). The lilacs are blooming like never before. My Ma, already in her 90's, had advised me two years back to prune back the wizened blooms of each lilac bush in order to ensure a full bloom the following year. I can tell you that it sure makes a difference! Already in Green Bay, 30 miles to the south, the lilacs are waning. Here, at La Ferme Sabloneuse, they are at their peak. I take a walk each evening to marvel at them and breath in their perfume. My Ruthie took a photo of the one in Ma's front yard and taped it to the wall of Ma's room. Tomorrow I will cut a sprig and put it next to Ma's bed. I've always hated to see the lilac blooms age, wither, and turn brown. I suppose it is the fleeting nature of any blooming shrub or tree that makes it all the more precious.
Right now the flowering crab blossoms cover the surrounding flower bed. There is a carpet of pink over that spot. The apple blossoms in the valley are dropping as well. The Pin Cherry blossoms are mostly gone too. However the snow bush tree next to the garage is coming into full bloom. In a week or so there will be another carpet, this time of white blossoms, covering the "garage garden." Each blooming has its moment in the Summer Pageant (to borrow a term of Kenneth Grahame's) and then is replaced by another. Much too soon for my taste we will see the blossoms of the squash, pumpkin and cucumbers, and then the blooming of Golden Rod and Asters. But that lies ahead. For now I will revel in the freshness of new life here in early Summer. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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06/01/2013 07:49.15 PM
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Grandma's House
As usual, I loved the post. And I agree - oral histories can me much more accurate than we think, and tremendously interesting. We've already mowed our grass three times this year. And if you're still willing to work for $3.00, let me know. You're hired! Come visit my site when you get a sec. Especially read the post on Progess - then comment and enter for a chance to win a gift from The Farm Wife. I promise it'll be 'man' friendly! Look forward to hearing from you!Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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05/26/2013 08:22.46 PM
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Grandma's House, Part IV
So tomorrow I must mow grass. For most of my property, it will be the first time this year. That's remarkable considering that most years the first cutting is in late April Whenever I cut grass, I always think of my Grandma Truckey's place. My brother Wayne and I used to cut her grass. When he was gone and I was older, I would cut her grass and clip her borders. She used to give me three dollars and at that time, it was generous.
One Friday night, when I was about 16 or 17, the phone rang at home and Pa woke me up to tell me that my Aunt Exora, who lived with Grandma, had been injured in a car accident and that I would have to stay with Grandma that night so that she wasn't alone. Pa drove me over to Grandma's house and I slept in Exora's bed till the next morning. When I awoke that Saturday morning, Grandma had already had breakfast ready for me. I ate breakfast, talked with her for awhile, and then walked the half-mile home. So much for taking care of Grandma. Exora survived the car accident and came back to live with Grandma and Grandma lived on to the age of 98.
Grandma Truckey had been born into the Lessor family, also called Lesueur. It was an important family in Canada during the French Regime. Grandma had told us grandchildren that the cathedral of St. Anne de Beaupre in Quebec was built on land that had been donated by her family. The family legend says the two Lesueurs were out fishing on the St. Lawrence when a fog rolled in and they couldn't see anything. The two men prayed to St. Anne, a patron to the French from Brittanny, that if they got home okay, they would give up land to build a church to her. They made it home, donated the land, and the cathedral was built. It makes for a nice story, but 35 years later, when I was doing research at the Brown County Library in Green Bay, I found a book on noteworthy French Canadian families. Under the Lessor/Lesueur name the book related how that family had donated the land for the cathedral of St. Anne.
As a lifelong student of history, I have always been amazed at how accurate the oral histories remain as they are handed down from generation to generation. This is just another example, all the more delightful because it's so close to home. --GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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05/25/2013 09:13.22 PM
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More on Springtime
As I've related many times, this year, Spring has come late. Only now are the hostas poking through the ground and the apple and crab trees are just starting to come into blossom. The lilacs haven't been this late since 1981. Only now has it ocurred to me that while we all search for visible signs of Spring in the flowers and birds, and wait for the audible sounds of Spring in birdsong and the cheeps of the Spring Peepers, it is the smells of Spring which delight in a special way. After a May (not an April) shower that shakes loose the smells of the flora and a series of warm days which follows it, we can smell the warm, wet, sweet scents of new plant growth.
Can you smell the color green? This doesn't sound silly if you are a Countryman or Woman. On a warm May night, with the peepers chirping and a south wind blowing up the hill, I can smell new grass and poplar leaves unfolding. The bare ground of the gardens are covered with a layer of discarded catkins from the maples and oaks. The blossoms of the crabapples, apple trees, pin cherry trees and of course, the lilacs are starting to bloom as I write this. Tomorrow I will be able to smell pink, purple, and saffron-white in addition to green. --GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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05/21/2013 07:21.42 PM
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Springtime and More New Arrivals
Springtime. The word itself sounds musical. Literature is replete with prose and poetry celebrating its arrival. Every Liberal Arts major remembers (or should) the medieval English poem "Sumer Is Icumen In". Written in the Wessex dialect of Middle English, even in its original form it conveys the joy and relief of a new season of life.
Sumer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu!
Groweþ sed and bloweþ med,
And springþ þe wde nu,
(Summer has come in,
Loudly sing, Cuckoo!
The seed grows and the meadow
blooms,
And the wood springs anew,)
I was thrilled last week to see that the Bluebirds came back to their house down the hill. (I was worried because I had forgotten to clean it out) We have swallows this year as well. Some folks don't like it when they try to nest in their out buildings but here we welcome them because of all the insects they eat. I've already posted photos of the Orioles which used our birdbath and checked out the feeder. Tomorrow we will set up the nectar feeders for them and the hummingbirds. I have not heard of anyone seeing the Ruby Throats here yet, (that's the only type of hummer we get up here) but once we set it up, I'll bet they'll be by.
Two days ago we saw the first Indigo Bunting. Yesterday morning I saw the first Rose-breasted Grosbeak. Now I know that these species aren't usually capitalized, but as they are valued friends here at La Ferme Sabloneuse, I feel it is only fitting. They are our new arrivals, and as such, deserve a certain respect. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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05/18/2013 07:39.55 PM
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May Mania, Planting
So last Friday we started planting. There's a tradition at La Ferme Sabloneuse that we plant corn on May 10, Pa's birthday. The old school rule of thumb is to plant corn when the oak leaves are the size of a squirrel's ear. Well, nothing here had leafed out at that time, but one thing about hobby farming is that you do what you can do when you have the time and manpower to do it. So, as I had promised Eldest Brother David that I would help him this last year that he did the valley garden; When I saw him and his wife Dear Susie planting corn I joined them and we put in most of that garden.
Sunday I roto-tilled my home garden and planted some potatoes in the valley garden. Monday I planted my home garden with corn, beans, cucumbers, pumpkins, and squash. Later, when the threat of frost is past, I will put in transplants that I had started earlier in the house in addition to pepper and tomato sets that My Ruthie has purchased for me from the greenhouse.
I was gratified last night as only a Countryman father could be. One day after cutting up seed potatoes and planting them, my Punky (my daughter Amanda) called me at 9 pm to ask me how deep should she plant her seed potatoes. She and her boyfriend Matt were at the table cutting up them up for the next day's planting. Punky's garden comes in addition to her efforts to beautify the property where she and Matt live. She told her mother that last Sunday, as she and Matt were discussing their summer projects, she was forced to exclaim, "Oh my God! We are just like our parents.!"
There's a saying that a farmer's got dirt in his veins. This means that even though they leave the farm, a farmer's kids can't help but be connected to the soil. So it is with my daughter and her man. I am made to think that the most important crop that a Countryman and woman grow is their children. --GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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05/14/2013 07:52.19 PM
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May Mania, Fertilizing
Yesterday Eldest Brother David hooked up a small plastic fertilizer spreader to his lawn tractor and spent the morning spreading chemical fertilizer on the pumpkin patches, the valley garden, and the hay-field. In turn, I roto-tilled the fertilizer into the dirt of the pumpkin patches and then dragged over the fertilizer in the valley garden with the '38 Farmall again. The photo I've posted is of Pa spreading fertilizer by hand around 1982. You can see the hilltop where my house now sits. Pa's method of spreading fertilizer and grain seed is called "broadcasting." That is the original use of the term. Radio and television simply borrowed it.
The tragedy of the fertilizer plant explosion in Oklahoma last month reminded me of Pa's story of his experience dragging in fertilizer some 60 years ago. He was dragging a field in Springtime and over the noise the tractor's engine he could hear a popping sound. He looked back and saw sparks coming up from the drag blades as they passed over one section of the field. It was then that Pa remembered that the previous fall, he had sawed firewood on that spot with a friend's saw-rig powered by a small engine. That engine used a glycerol coolant which had leaked from the rig the whole time they were sawing. The glycerol was interacting with the nitrogen of the fertilizer and when agitated by the drag ... you got it ... nitro-glycerin.
As for me, I used to broadcast the chemical fertilizer over the valley garden using Pa's method until David bought his little spreader and started riding his lawn tractor. Regardless of the method, we've found over the years that even in the sandy fields of La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm) if you have enough fertilizer and moisture, and if you diligently keep the weeds down, you can grow good crops. --GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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05/11/2013 06:49.33 PM
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May Mania, Part III, Plowing and Dragging
The most pressing and time consuming job in May for most countrymen north of the Mason Dixon line is getting the crops in. It runs the gambit from Punky's boyfriend Matt who must oversee a number of teams planting literally thousands of acres of corn, wheat, soybean and legumes to Eldest Brother David and I using our two Farmall A's to prepare the garden plots at La Ferme Sabloneuse.
Eldest Brother David, (as I name him in these blogs) is 66 years old, weighs about 135 lbs, and has a ceramic aorta and plastic heart valves. If you sit next to him in the quiet of St. Patrick Church before the weekday Mass you can hear his valves clack like the clapper on the smokestack of his Farmall. Well, this year he managed to do all the plowing which is something when you consider that he has no hydraulics to aid him in pulling up the single plow on the '38 Farmall. Last year he had been content to just make the first few furrows and then left it to me to finish the rest. (Believe me, it's not easy wrestling with that hand lever!) He was so dissatisfied with the straightness (or lack thereof) of my furrows that he felt compelled to do the whole job himself. David told me, "You're the only man I know who plows in a circle!"
I answered him, "Nature abhors a straight line!"
David responded, "Well, apparently, so do you!"
To placate me, I suspect, David allowed me to drag both gardens and also prevailed upon me to rototill three small patches of ground in front of his deer towers where he plans to put in pumpkins this year. Even though the '38 Farmall has the plowshare permanently bolted on, because of its superior pulling capacity compared to David's Farmall, we've attached a lengh of chain so that it can pull the drag. So I spent an hour dragging the gardens. While I was doing so, I remembered Ma used to say that our Pa always had a smile on his face when he would drag and she also used to say that she noticed that I was smiling too.
The two photos I posted tonight are of Pa behind a walk-behind plow like the type frequently used during the '40s and '50s. Only now are they making a comeback. (Hobby Farms had an article about these last year) The second is of Pa behind old John Duame's team of horses dragging. Both pics are in the field behind Grandma Truckey's which, by the way, is still being cultivated to this day. More on May Mania next time. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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05/07/2013 07:49.55 PM
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May Mania, Part II
Pat McManus wrote hilarious stories about growing up on a small farm in the Idaho wilderness in the '40s. One dealt with trying to explain to his step-dad Hank that they could either go fishing, or work all day on the farm. What they could not do was what Hank proposed: Finish just one task and then go fishing. Hank wanted to finish mending fence. Pat went on to point out what happened the last time they had tried doing just that. First they had to go to the neighbors to get back their fence stretcher, but in order to do that they had return the tools they had borrowed from theses same neighbors that they were going to use to make shingles and repair the shed roof. In order to do that they had to finish the job of repairing the roof. All in all, a full day's work before they could even think of going fishing. I can't say that I've retold the story completely accurately, but you get the idea. What it amounts to is that May Mania entails discovering two more jobs to do for every one that you complete.
As I mentioned last time, this year's May Mania means catching up on things all at once. Today was a classic example. The flower beds needed cleaning up before the early growth grass and weeds entrenched themselves. As I started at that, I noticed that the Yucca plants (a notoriously tenacious, not to mention, insidiously spreading species) had re-asserted itself in one of the beds. After ripping up the grass and weeds from where I don't want them to grow and hauling them to bare spots of the backyard where I do, I set myself to attacking the Yucca's. BUT FIRST, I had to go to Ma's and get Pa's adze that I use as a mattock for really heavy uprooting. BUT BEFORE DOING THAT, I realized that I was walking past the orange and white marker sticks that My Ruthie had set out last winter to demark the driveway for the snowplow. Sooo . . . first I had to pick up and put away the markers, but as I did that, I noticed the chipmunks and starlings at the birdfeeders. Soooo . . . I grabbed the pellet gun and shot at them awhile and then walked to Ma's and got the adze and then tore up and hauled away the Yucca's and it was then that I noticed that I had to hoe THAT particular garden and clean it up.
So you get the idea. I am like the leaf in Paul Verlaine's "Chanson d'Automne" "And I'm going on an ill wind that carries me from here and there, like a dead leaf." I putter about like a butterfly or bumblebee, going from task to task. It sounds dismal but it's really quite enjoyable, just flitting from one job to another 'till it's time to go in for the night. It's the kind of day that a Countryman or Woman would enjoy. --GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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05/04/2013 08:00.16 PM
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May Mania
It has been a late Spring here in Northeast Wisconsin. The Spring Peepers finally came out less than a week ago. It was 70 degrees today, but a cold front just came through this evening and it will only make it to 50 tomorrow. (This pales in comparison what my Punky has experienced this week in Valentine, Nebraska. It was 92 degrees there a few days ago and now they have snow on the ground!)
The problem with a late Spring is that now everything must be done all at once, hence: May Mania. Eldest Brother David started plowing last Monday. It was probably the latest start in living memory. After disking and dragging, we probably won't get to plant until the middle of May. Probably just as well, because this is one Spring where we can't count on continuous warm weather.
In addition to the gardens, the raking had to wait until the snow was gone. Because of the late snow and cold, wet weather, I couldn't even take down the Christmas lights until last night. Talk about redneck! We've also had bear problems at La Ferme Sabloneuse. Two nights ago Big Brother Tommy heard a commotion outside at about 9 pm and saw a big black bear tearing down Ma's birdfeeder. Tommy went out an yelled at the bear and it ran off. Of course it ran over to our place and tore down our birdfeeder and then knocked over our aluminum trashcan holding our feed and like the Biblical Onan, "... spilled his seed onto the ground." So now every evening, before I go in, I have to make sure that all the birdfeeders and seed are safely put away inside the garage. More on May Mania next time. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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05/01/2013 09:15.15 PM
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Spring 2013 Has Arrived!
Spring has finally arrived at La Ferme Sabloneuse, at least temporarily. My ultimate indicator, the Spring peepers, came out last night and are going full bore this evening. There's not much "greening up" yet in the fields and the bunnies are searching for the first tiny green shoots of grass, but it was in the 60's today and that's the best it's been in months and months.
In the last few weeks the migrant birds have had to struggle with colder than usual weather. I've been worrying about the prospects of eggs and fledglings this spring. They will get a stretch of warm weather for a few days. I can only hope that there won't be a deep cold and wet spell which would decimate the next generation of birds.
My cousin, Billy Younger, told me last Sunday that he had heard the Spring peepers along the railroad tracks. The temps were in the 40's and there was snow in the woods then, so we surmised that the peepers, as with all wildlife, were moved by the slant of the sunshine as opposed to the temperatures, at least to a "degree".
So tomorrow I will till our home garden and pick up the fallen branches at my Ma's and stop often and feel the warm sunlight on my face after such a hard winter. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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04/27/2013 08:39.43 PM
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Grandma's House, Part III
Last time, I mentioned Uncle Vitale at Grandma's House. Big brother Tommy liked Vitale, probably because he was such a powerful, yet gentle, man. Pa told us one time when they were young men and all still living at Grandma's, Pa goaded Vitale to see just what it took to make him lose his temper. They both were in the bedroom that opened out to the tiny kitchen. Vitale finally had enough and socked my Pa in the jaw with an old-fashioned haymaker. Pa said that he flew from the bedroom out into the middle of the kitchen. He said that he had a quarter-sized strawberry on his jaw for a week. I have to give credit to my Dad, he always told that story with admiration for Vitale. One thing about them Truckeys, they didn't care if they won or lost, they just liked to tussle. My own Eldest brother David, in his youth, was a boxer in the Air Force and used to get into the occasional scrap outside the gym. By his own admission, he used to get himself licked, but it didn't stop him from mixing it up. He was, and is, a scrapper. From this family heritage I coined and kept to heart this adage: "It's not the winning nor the losing that counts, it's the struggle." -GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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04/27/2013 07:48.25 PM
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Thanks!
You are a saint! My heroes are all the tough Farm Wives who came before me and I'm always amazed at what I can learn from them. I'll look forward to getting a picture!Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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04/22/2013 06:09.30 AM
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Love it!
It's women like your grandma that inspires me to be the best person I can be. Hey, Gary? Since I had relatives in Wisconsin and because of that I have some Yankee blood, does that mean we're cousins down the line somewhere???? :) My favorite memory of visiting up there were the German hard rolls and pastries that my Uncle Earl would go get us each morning for breakfast. Ah, to have some of those recipes...... Do you mind if I take a 'piece' of your Grandma's stories and post them on the Farm Wife? I would love for my readers to hear about the great women of our past.Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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04/21/2013 07:04.15 AM
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Grandma's House, Part II
I was talking about my Grandma Truckey's house and how soothing the place was. Whenever I would visit her, we would chat in her tiny living room and as she rocked I would doze off while sitting in one of her other chairs. When I would awake, she would chuckle and remark how everyone who came and visited her would fall asleep in her house. She said that there was a certain peace in her house and even when members of her progeny who had "troubles with the law" would visit there, they would forget their troubles and find rest and peace there. Then, when they awoke, they would go back out into the world.
To this day, I am convinced that The Good Lord and His angels frequented my Grandmother's house. My sister, Sister and Mother Superior Donna told us all that once, when she was little, she had spent the night at Grandma's and slept next to her. When she awoke the next morning, Grandma was still asleep but Donna, a mere child, saw a tall, strong, stern angel hovering near the ceiling of the room, guarding Grandma. I do not, dare not, doubt this story. That she was guarded by Heaven cannot be disregarded. Even though she lived alongside the highway, she was never troubled by intruders, except for once. The one time that she was, my uncle Vitale was there visiting her. On a Friday night, I think, Vitale was at the kitchen table with Grandma when a young, drunken man came in through the door uttering obscenities. Good ol' Uncle Vitale, even in his sixties, was a big, tough man, the largest of all the Truckey uncles. He was the gentlest of them all too, but when he was riled, he was an one of them old bulls that I had mentioned before . . . a force to reckoned with. Vitale rose from his chair in a rage and roared to the man, "You get out of here!" The intruder took one look at Vitale and like the revenuers in my previous post, high-tailed it out of there. We had asked Grandma what she would've done about the intruder if Vitale hadn't have been there. She replied, "I guess I would've just stuck a butcher knife in his belly." I'm glad that I'm descended from such stock. More next time. --GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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04/20/2013 06:58.49 PM
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Hi, Gary!
I loved the post about Grandma's house, but the one thing that stood out was the part about the tavern. My Uncle Earl, who lived in Milwaukee, once bought a tavern. What he did with it I'll have to ask my mom, but it brought memories back of that gruff old bear. Considering he was a dairy farmer (or rather GENTLEMAN dairy farmer) I sure wish he was still around to see this place! Great story - keep it up!Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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04/20/2013 11:42.28 AM
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Grandma's House, Part I
We literally went over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's House. Of course it was over Devereaux's Crick and woods were everywhere but still . . .
Grandma Truckey's house had originally been a blacksmith's shop. When the peripatetic Truckeys settled at Stiles Junction they bought that building and the tavern across the road from it. Grandma lived in that house from 1922 until her death in 1978. It never had running water. Even as a teenager in the 1970's, I would fill two pale green plastic five-gallon containers with water from our well and Pa would drop them off at his mother's. Grandma's house had four rooms, a kitchen, a living room, and two bedrooms. It also had an attached shed which served as storage and an enclosed outhouse. It also had a cellar, but due to the high water table in that area, it was usually flooded. I never had the guts to explore that cellar. It was probably just as well.
Grandma's house was nestled in a little valley enclosed by raised ground for the highway just to the west and a raised railroad grade immediately north of it. A little cracked blacktopped road ran immediately south of it. She had a little patch of lawn west of her house and a scrap of garden and a stand of poplar to the east. In the hottest days of summer her house was cooled by the massive cottonwoods that surrounded it. As big brother Tommy reminded me, when we kids were allowed to stay overnight at her house during summer vacation we would go to sleep lulled by the whiz of cars and trucks on the highway and the rustle of wind in the trees and awaken to see the shadows of leaves playing on the roof and walls of the bedrooms. More on Grandma's House next time. --GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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04/13/2013 07:04.33 PM
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Pa and Moonshine, Part III
"Makin' their way,
The only way they know how,
That's just a little bit more,
Than the law will allow." -- The Dukes of Hazard Theme
One day while Pa was watching the still, he became bored and decided to do a little target shooting with his pistol. I never did think to ask him the caliber of his pistol. I do know that he had a shoulder holster for it. I am made to think that it was of a smaller caliber; one that would not be easily noticable. A .32 or .22 caliber I should think; one that would be sufficient to kill the rats, squirrels, chipmunks, and any other vermin that would frequent a corn-fed still and still be readily concealable. Besides killing rodents, a handgun was a good thing to have around an illegal still amongst competitor bootleggers.
Anyways, Pa stepped out of the moonshine shack, lined up with a tree along the path, and emptied the revolver. He heard crashing in the underbrush and he thought that it must've been a deer. Later, when he went home, his father asked him if he had seen anything unusual during his time at the shack. My Pa told my grandfather what had happened and then ol' Tuffel (my grandfather) told him that the county sheriff and a "revenuer" had been told of a still in that area and had come west from Oconto to investigate. They made the trip down the tracks and down the path to the shack and as they approached the still they saw a young man come out of the shack and shoot at them. They high-tailed it out of there and that, as they say, was that.
Years after Prohibition, my Pa and his old accomplice, Tom Burdick, visited the old moonshine shack. The shack had been built in a hexagonal fashion, and the six posts were still standing. Pa, for whatever reason, pulled out that same little pistol and aimed a shot at the nearest pole. A split-second later Tom grunted as something hit his heavy overcoat. It turned out that the bullet must have ricocheted off each and every of the six posts and then, almost spent, collided with Tom Burdick. Tom wrested the pistol away from Pa and said, "That's enough of that!"
So ended that particular episode in the life of Pa Truckey, the founder of La Ferme Sabloneuse. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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04/06/2013 06:43.24 PM
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Pa and Moonshine, Part II
Our good neighbors, Lisa and Tim Rupiper were on a walk west of their property, towards Splinter Crick and they found an old jug. They sent me a photo of it that I used in the making of these blogs. The making of moonshine is simple. All you need is corn meal, sugar, yeast, and water. Alcohol distilled from grains is whiskey, while that which is distilled from fruits is brandy. Cognac, for example, originated from wine being condensed for easier travel by sea in concentrated form. When it was discovered that this "wine concentrate" was highly desirable in and of itself, a whole new form of apertif was born.
Commercial whiskey is tan, or brown, as a result of its aging in charcoal-lined barrels. Moonshine is clear, (hence, "white lightning") as a result of being distributed immediately after distilliation. Pa made white lightning, or "corn liquor." He described the process for me when I was a sophomore in high school and I needed a "how-to" subject for Speech class. Pa talked about making the "mash." Basically it was grinding the corn into meal and then adding sugar and yeast to ferment it. After this, it is then distilled to make white lightning. Pa was about 16 when he started moon-shining. He told me that he used to feed the corn mash to the squirrels that frequented his moonshine shack. The squirrels would then go "squirrely," inebriated from the fermented mash. The subsequently distilled liquor would be diluted to an acceptable level of "proof" and then shipped out. More next Sunday . . . -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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04/03/2013 09:15.57 PM
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Le Printemps
A double blog entry today. Just had to mention that during this last week we saw the arrivals of the robins, the sand-hill cranes, and the red-wing blackbirds. Yes, all in one week! It goes along with what I had said the last two weeks about how this spring's arrivals and developments would be compacted due to the late winter. Even here at La Ferme Sabloneuse, I heard the robin's chirps this evening, even though there is still a foot of snow. Spring has arrived, or, as my ancestors would have said, "Le Printemps est arrivee!" Whether or non the earth itself is ready, the length of the days has driven the birds to our land. So the new year begins!Come visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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03/30/2013 07:34.38 PM
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Pa Truckey and Moonshine, Part I
My Pa was born in 1909. By the time he was 11, Prohibition was in effect. The Eighteenth Ammendment made it illegal to sell alcoholic beverages, but not to possess and consume it. For a young man in rural Wisconsin with only an eighth grade education in the 1920's, making moonshine was the only way to make money. Even during the so-called boom of the 1920's, rural America lagged behind. President Calvin Coolidge was quoted as saying, "The business of America is business." Less known was his other quote, "Farmer have always been without money." In any event, Pa found it expedient to work for a bootlegger in the 20's. His "employer", Tom Burdick, operated a still halfway between Stiles Junction and Oconto Falls near the railroad track that served Oconto Falls, Stiles Junction, and Oconto in Wisconsin. At night, Tom would use a "requisitioned" handcar to tote the moonshine to Oconto. From there, paid-off railroad conductors would see to it that the hooch would make its way on to the crime lords of Chicago. There was one popular story that poor Tom was once forced to operate his handcar at optimum speed in order to out-pace an unscheduled freight train traveling along the same route.
Splinter Crick starts at its source at the Great Lena Swamp around Spruce and meanders east of Oconto Falls down to Stiles, joining the Machikanee Flowage just west of the village. The crick carved out a gulch some one hundred yards in width, exposing several freshwater springs along its path. Pa had told me that as many as half a dozen stills were operating along Splinter Crick in the '20's. Even as a teen-ager in the 70's, when hunting Splinter, I could see the hollows in the banks of former still sites. Even today, on a walk down by Splinter you could locate a number of springs bringing clear, cool water to the crick. The isolated nature of the crick, with its cedar swamps and thick tangles of pines, spruces and oaks, along with pure spring water, made it a good place to make 'shine. Its proximity to the railroad at its middle stretch made it easy to transport down to Oconto, although the two-rut tracks to the creek at its lower end also gave evidence of transport by simple Model T's.
More about Pa and moonshine next time. --GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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03/30/2013 07:18.55 PM
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Waiting for Spring, Part II
I was talking about tracking the arrivals of spring, in this case, the migratory birds. In recent years, both ducks and geese have wintered over here in Northeastern Wisconsin. Even in the worse of weather, I have observed Canada Geese around the mouth of the bay and in the fields. In the open parts of the Oconto River below the dam at Stiles I've seen daily the ducks on the water. I do know that those kind humans who set out corn and seeds for wild birds keep these large waterfowl in mind. When I was a kid, a flock (or skein) of geese seen in the sky at this time of year meant that spring had come. Nowadays, it means that a flock has departed the Wildlife Sanctuary at the mouth of the bay in order to feed on cornfields to the west of the bay.
For me, (as I've mentioned before) the surest sign that the year has really turned is the arrival of the Red-winged Blackbird. It is said that the uncolored females arrive before the males with their brightly colored epaulets. The females seek out feeding and nesting sites before the males arrive to court. (Typical, that the female attends to necessities before the male arrives for romance) Oft-times the female blackbirds are indistinguishable from the grackles and other blackbirds, at least for the uninformed. Regardless, once I see the males singing brightly on last year's growth of high grass and cattails, I know that spring has arrived.
The last, and indisputable sign of spring are the spring peepers. Hal Borland said that three days of 50 degree weather will bring them out. In my experience, it's usually has to be near 60 degrees for two or three days before we hear them. Once out, it takes a heavy cold snap to drive them back into the mud. Even during a late snowstorm, if it's not below 35 degrees, I can still hear the peepers. The spring peeper is simply a small treefrog, even though it seems to want to stay in the marsh or swamps. I've never seen one actually on a tree though once or twice I remember seeing one glued to our bay window. There's nothing nicer in my experience than an early warm spell in late March or early April when you can leave the windows open even in the evening and listen to the peepers. I've seen temperatures approach 80 degrees at these times. The wind blows warm and sweet with smells all the way from The Farmwife's land in the Deep South. Between the trill of the peepers and the chirps of the robins I am perforced to linger outdoors and just revel in the end of another winter and the start of another spring. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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03/23/2013 06:34.37 PM
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Good Morning!
Hey, Gary. I think one of your seagulls was watching us shovel gravel yesterday. I'll see if I can tie a note to his leg for you! BTW - Randy found another shovel - want to come help with gravel????Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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03/21/2013 05:07.27 AM
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Waiting For Spring, Part I
It is the middle of March and we are still in deep winter here at La Ferme Sabloneuse. A severe, late winter usually means a sudden spring. This year's compressed spring season will force me to rapidly note the arrival of each migratory bird and the blooming of each noteworthy plant. When it is really, really cold, like this winter where, as my nephew Dave had posted, the ice in Green Bay has reached all the way to Washington Island at the mouth of the bay, even the inland seagulls have departed for the south. Up here, the seagulls are usually around all winter and only a rough winter like this one will force them out. So first this year, will be the seagulls.
The arrival of the seagulls only means that the winter has relented . . . a little. For the first sign of spring one has to wait for the Sandhill Crane. The Sandhill Cranes are one of the tougher migrators. I will hear their unmistakable croaks while there's still snow on the ground. I find it hard to tell the difference between the call of the Sandhill Crane and that of the Raven but all I have to do is look up and find the source of the call. Although the cranes seperate and nest in pairs, they migrate in flocks. In November I always notice massive flocks of cranes gathering over Green Bay in preparation for their trek south. In March I will hear the calls of a pair of cranes, or the plaintive call of a single one lost and on the search for another.
After the Sandhills I will see a few robins. One must keep in mind that some robins will stay in this area throughout the winter if the conditions are right. This winter, however, would be an exception as I've not seen a robin since December. I can predict with some certainty that I will not see a robin until our massive snow pack has melted down to bare ground, at least in spots. Robins are insectivores first and foremost and will only turn to berries and buds when all else is gone. There will be no robins here until they can pick over the bare earth with some expectation of finding at least the shell of an insect. More about this coming up on my next post. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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03/16/2013 06:59.03 PM
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The "other" Old Frenchman
As I had mentioned before, my Pa respected very few men. To be honest, it was a marvel that no one had killed him before his demise of natural causes at the age of 75. During the great spring storm of '73, when a northeaster had blown down the bay of Green Bay and had flooded and permanently altered the make-up of the bay, a home-owner had lamented the destruction of his property on the bay's west side. This was at my Aunt Jennie's café in Stiles Junction. Pa was seated upon his usual stool and told the man, "Serves you right! No one told you to build on the lowlands of the bay and chase out the frogs and the ducks. You got what you deserved!"
This proves to show just what kind of man my Pa was. I mention all this because one of the few people that my Pa treated with respect was his daughter-in-law's father, Leo Monette. My Pa practically fawned over Grandpa Leo. He and Leo were of the same background, though of different temperaments. They both had worked the lumber camps of Northern Michigan. They both knew horses and farming. But Pa recognized the worth, capabilities, and dignity of this grand old man and Pa took pains to treat Leo with honor. I remember back in the mid '70's when my brothers and I played tavern league softball under the Stiles and House of David banners, that after a game we would gather at Pociopa's Bar in Stiles. The whole tavern would be a kaleidoscope of sounds and sights, with pool games and boasting matches and jukebox music dominating the scene. Pa and Grandpa Leo would sit together at one end of the bar and nurse a shot of brandy and a glass of water and compare logging stories. They were an oasis of quietude in a storm of festivity. Even the most boisterous of the young farmers and ballplayers would extend to those two a certain respect. (Never doubt even a ribald young countryman's regard for old flannel-shirted grandpas) As for me, once I had the glow of two 8-ounce beers in my scrawny 16 year-old body (you have to remember that back then one could drink in a tavern if his parent was present) I would stand next to those two and lean against my Pa and be proud that I was descended from such men. Even back then I had been made aware of what was important in a man. I had only to listen to what those two had to say. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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03/10/2013 07:42.27 PM
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Good Morning, Gary!
I can just feel the warmth of the fire and see Sue taking care of Granpa Leo and her family. Ah, to truly have the determination and steel will of the farm wives of yesteryear. And I love that you've added something else to my 'must read' list - I'm going to hunt down Neighbor Rosicky this week. Thanks Gary. This got my morning off to a great start! Be careful out there and bundle up - I want to keep reading your posts!Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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03/05/2013 04:19.08 AM
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Tending the Fire
I had done a series of posts earlier on coziness. That is to say, coziness during winter. This very winter seems to be an especially hard one. When I was younger, it would've weighed heavily on my soul, but now, in my middle age, I can finally appreciate the patience the old ones possessed in waiting out the winter. When I had posted the blog about Eldest brother David's first stove, a 55 gallon oil drum in the half-completed house built by our Pa, he reminded me how his father-in-law, a retired farmer, had fed wood into that stove in order to keep the building warm while our Pa continued to work on the house in the winter of '73 - '74. David's wife, dear Susie, was the youngest and favorite daughter of her dad, Leo Monette. Grandpa Leo was a gentle, humble farmer who possessed the quiet strength of his French-Canadian ancestors. I remember going to pick blackberries with Susie and her ma, Sue, while Grandpa Leo watched my baby nephew Dave. Sue, short for Sabina, who at age 95, still lives on her own at the home farm, was, and is, a strong-willed, tough countrywoman. (The Farmwife, Julie Murphree, would love her!) Nevertheless, this strong minded woman would stop still and attend whenever old Leo would quietly say her name. If you wanted to capture the essence of Grandpa Leo, just read Willa Cather's classic "Neighbor Rosicky." Both were elegant, European-styled men who carved a life for himself and his family on the American frontier.
Even though a farming accident in his 60s cost him his right hand, Grandpa Leo could still tend fire, and he did it like only an old countryman could do. To quote Hal Borland once again:
"The reasons are all twined with intangibles as thin as wood smoke. Man is a natural fire-tender, has been since ancient times. There is race pride, something reaching back to the cave man who first tamed fire. There is the instinct to bask safely in front of a fire while a hunk of buffalo meat simmers and wolves howl outside."
A similar quote which has stuck with me over the years was the line in the movie "Dances With Wolves" where John Dunbar described the wisdom of the aged Dakota chief Ten Bears:
"He reminded me that at his age, a good fire was better than anything."
Next time, a little more about Grandpa Leo. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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03/02/2013 08:28.09 PM
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Noticing Things, Part III
One of Yogi Berra's famous quotes is, "You can observe a lot by watching." Our cousins the Youngers were another throwback family. We all grew up together and I noticed when walking along the roads and trails with them during the long summer days they would stray off the path to one side or the other to examine a plant or to stare into the shadows in the woods. They reminded me of dogs sniffing out a new trail back then, but they were and are outstanding countrymen and can tell you more about wild things than most naturalists. The skill of noticing things is almost a lost art. I remember reading what an outdoor writer and student of Native American history had to say about this. He wrote that an Indian youth walking through the woods would observe and take note of a multitude of things that would be oblivious to a modern man. When that same youth would return along the same path he would note any changes in those surrounding as easily as we would read the daily newspaper.
A countryman or woman can tell you the next day's weather by a glance at the sky. He or she can tell you what a ring around a full moon means in the next day or so and how long you have to get the clothes off the line before a steady rain sets in. The best of them can tell you about any plant you come by and which can be used for what purpose. It is a lifelong learning process, which in my opinion, is the best kind of education. All you need is to be big enough to acknowledge your ignorance and a willingness to listen to others and of course, to look around you at all times. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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02/26/2013 07:29.35 PM
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Noticing Things, Part II
Having been a countryman all my life, having been raised by one and surrounded by others, I was taught to look all around me wherever I was. I was taught by my Pa to "walk like an Indian" as he put it, to put your feet one in front of the other, to look down before placing each step and to stop and look frequently. To this day, I'm told by people that my quiet approach is unsettling. Pa would tell me that a white man thrusts nature aside as he walks while an Indian becomes one with his surroundings. He showed me early on how just standing still, even in the open, would be enough to be invisible to the occupants of a moving car. My brothers and I would practice sneaking up on each other when one of us were working outside. That definitely got you into the habit of looking around you from time to time! When out and about with Wild Bill, he would point things out like how the crickets and katydids would go silent as we approached and to use that as an early warning device when camping. (He also showed me that when stalking in the dark and the insects would go silent on you, you could start them back singing again by imitating the katydids scratching whirr. On walks with Pa he would point out that the wild grapes were finally coming back after DDT had been banned or an oriole's nest finally visible after leaf fall in the Autumn. The noticing of things extends from one's footsteps to the very heavens themselves. I like to take notice of the stars. This last Christmas I received a CD enabling me to identify and chart the stars visible at our latitude. I was finally able to name stars that I've wondered about for years. To this day, it bothers me to lose track of what stage the moon is in or the position of the morning or evening star (Venus). More about noticing things coming mid-week. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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02/23/2013 08:33.11 PM
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Good Morning!
I mentioned you on my site this morning - and referenced your cold weather! I loved the post about the German Soldier - as we say down here in the South, 'Bless his heart!' I would love it if you would post a blog comment about your weather on the site - down here we just think we understand a cold winter, when in reality, we don't have a clue! If it snows here, we're very thankful two days later when it's melted and gone for another 10 years - don't y'all have to wait 10 years for it to melt????? Hope you have great day, Gary!Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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02/20/2013 07:46.12 AM
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Noticing Things...
Gary - Loved the post! One of my favorite things to do on Paradise is to sit outside and just watch. Right now, I get to watch bluebirds chasing each other in the , listen to the gray doves on the clothesline, enjoy the migrating ducks circle and land in our pond to pay a visit to our own ducks and watch the red bud blooms loosen in the warming weather. Yesterday, while at Tractor Supply buying bag balm I noticed that their peach trees were full of blossoms. I couldn't wait to get home and check the progress of our own - and to see if I need to get them covered, as we are certainly due for at least one more frost before true Spring arrives. Now you've done it - I'm going to be watching instead of working today!Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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02/18/2013 07:58.48 AM
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Noticing Things, Part I
I am of the opinion that a countryman notices things far more than a city person. I was reminded of this the other day as I was walking my mail route. I heard the unmistakable scream of a Red-tailed hawk and immediately I had to stop and locate it high above. I spotted four of them actually, and they seemed more intent on playing aerial chicken than on hunting. I realized that these hawks were displaying courtship rituals. Wikipedia describes it much more succinctly than I ever could: “During courtship, the male and female fly in wide circles while uttering shrill cries. The male performs aerial displays, diving steeply, and then climbing again. After repeating this display several times, he sometimes grasps her talons briefly with his own.” I actually saw one pair almost grasp each other before veering away. It is during the late winter and early spring that Red-tails do their courting and mating.
Red-tails are noted for their ability to adapt well to urbanization. You will find them nesting in city parks and in tall trees in the suburbs. In the 26 years I have worked out of the post office in Green Bay’s west side, there have always been a pair of Red-tails that has nested on the golf-course nearby. Time and again, if I was observant, I would notice one perched on one of the light poles in the parking lot, waiting for an unobservant prey. One morning, as I was loading my mail truck, I could hear the alarm chirp of a robin. From experience, I knew that some predator or other was close by. I looked in the direction of the chirps and sure enough, there was a Red-tail atop the nearby fence. I tried to point this out to a co-worker, but she was a city girl and just thought I was somewhat strange (which, of course, I am used to).
A countryman is by nature a curious soul. He wouldn't be living the country life if he didn't enjoy or even delight in nature and living things. Time and again, I've kept track of the progress of nest building, lilacs blooming, grass greening and the latest brood of baby bunnies. I know that I am not alone in this endeavor. I'd bet that you, dear reader, can tell me which trees turn color first both on your property and on the way to work. I'd bet you could tell me where your favorite place is to see the trees turning or where you like to watch the moonrise. A countryperson takes pleasure in being swept up by, and taking part in, the natural progression of each day, season, and year. He or she also feels just a smidgen of satisfaction at being able appreciate what others cannot, or will not. More about this in my next post. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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02/16/2013 04:51.09 PM
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Thanks!
Thanks for the compliments - and I'll take you up on your offer, but of course I'll give you fair warning when I use anything of yours. I checked on Amazon about the Hal Borland books and they do look good. I think I'm going to start with 'The Dog Who Came To Stay' and 'Beyond Your Doorstep'. Both of those appealed to me. If I like his writing, I'll certainly do the others, as well. You should see all the books we have stacked around here! We've been seriously discussing changing the 'Entry Room' into a library. That is, if I can get past having The Monster Buck staring at me while I read.....Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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02/13/2013 06:22.25 AM
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Hi!
I just got through catching up on your blog, and for once, after reading your Coziness series, I can truly appreciate our mild winters. Although I am sure I am freezing to death while outside in the rain trying to feed the critters, next time I'll feel a sense of warmth knowing I'm not dealing with a snow storm on top of everything else! I still say you need your own blog page - your writing is incredible. thefarmwife.com is finally back up and running, so get ready for me to either hit you up to 'borrow' (with full credit, of course) a piece or two from your blog, and to refer people to your site here. Try and stay warm - and I'll think about you tomorrow when it (supposedly) will be hitting the low 70's!Come visit me, The Farm Wife & Paradise Plantation.
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02/11/2013 04:53.44 PM
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Winter Wears On
We are in the time of year when winter just wears on. The hours of daylight are longer but the cold and snow hasn't improved one bit. As I mentioned before, we start yearning to see some evidence of a change of seasons but it's nowhere to be found. I tell myself that by the end of next month we should be seeing the redwing blackbirds, the real harbingers of spring, but it's cold comfort. To restore my fortitude, I turned once again to Hal Borland, my inspiration as a Countryman, and found solace in his words. The following is from his book, "This Hill, This Valley."
"Now it becomes clear that it isn't the little pleasures of the country that make life worth living here. It is rather the big assurances. The little pleasures are for the casual visitor; but one must live with the wind and the weather and know the land and the seasons to find the certainties. The flash of a goldfinch or the song of an oriole can delight the senses; but the knowledge that no matter how sharp or long the Winter, they will be back next Spring, provides an inner surety. To see a hillside come to leaf and flower is to know a particular ecstasy of beauty; but to walk the gray Winter woods and find the buds that will resurrect that beauty in another May is to partake of continuity. To feel the frost underfoot and know that there is both fire and ice in the earth, even as in the patterned stars overhead, is to sense the big assurances.
Man needs to know these things, and they are best learned when the silence is upon the land. No one can shout about them. They need to be whispered, that they may reach the questing soul." -- Hal Borland
I guess I can plug along for another month or so. Here's hoping that you can do the same. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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02/09/2013 06:22.08 PM
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Coziness, Part IV
I feel sorry for wildlife in winter. We set out birdseed and we also have an electrically-warmed water dish at ground level for any creature smart enough to figure out its location. The chickadees cheeped and waited for me to add seed to their feeder. While the cold wind ripped through me I wondered how those birds could survive. I've read that more birds die of dehydration than of exposure during the cold months. We do what we can with our watering dish and what feed we set out but I still pity the birds and other wildlife. The rabbits have it easier. Around here they make burrows under the brush piles I set up for them. While they don't line their spaces with anything, they are still under the frost line and if two of them share the same hole I imagine it could be rather comfortable. They sure seem to have no trouble surviving sub-zero weather. Our local whitetail deer tend to hunker down under pine and evergreen growth. They instinctively know that the foliage on the boughs will offer them cover from the wind and retain some of the warmth from their bodies. Furthermore, the pine needles on the ground under these trees reflect heat better, whether it be from the sun during the day, or body heat. Right now there are many bare spots in our woods after the last thaw. I would imagine our deer are bedding down in those places during midday and getting what warmth they can from the January sunshine. I can see that they are scraping away the snow in the rye field each night and grazing there.
The gray and red squirrels curl themselves up in their nests during the coldest of weather, their bushy tails wrapped around them like down comforters. I don't know how well their leaf nests stop the wind high up in the oaks but I see whole families out foraging during midday and I would expect that a nest with two or more squirrels in it would be a cozy place. We humans, with our relatively hairless hides, forget how well fur bearing animals are adapted to the cold. As a fan of coziness, I like Hal Borland's description of how the chipmunk spends the winter. "Chipmunks do not hibernate, though they spend a good part of the cold months sleeping and are not really active until Spring is well within reach. They build their nests below frost line and they stock up for cold weather with hoards grain, nuts and grass seed. They eat well and they sleep warm, in nests lined with thistledown, milkweed floss, grass and other excellent mattress and comforter material." If, like me, you have a childlike affection for the image of furry creatures sleeping in warm surroundings, you'd like Borland's quote. Stay warm, my friends. -- GaryCome visit me, La Ferme Sabloneuse (Sandy Farm).
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02/02/2013 07:28.16 PM
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