The Last Saturday Of Spring

It's been such a dry white season since I last posted, I thought I would take a few minutes out of my Joon-teemph celebration and put up some photos.



The holler is still green and peaceful.


Some of us are more peaceful than others...


Gabriel plowed up a garden plot for us in the south pasture.



Coming back from time in the woodlot...


The blackberry bushes are loaded down. If I don't get the bird netting on them soon, we won't get many of 'em...


Some of our onions from last year were still in the ground, and MeeMaw harvested them. She put them in a salad, and they tasted better than anything I've ever bought in a store with beeping scanners and bleeping employees.


A view of the Cough in full springtide:


And the watchdarg of the Cough...






I am utterly surrounded by all kinds of beauty.



This is a cross section of the old bird tree. I've been chain-sawing it into sections, a bit at a time...



Since we posted this sign, Bonnie's self-esteem has ratcheted up several notches.


Here is our miniature azalea in full flower. Short-lived but deeply brilliant, like William Cowper:



Bonnie alerted us to the presence of a visitor.I took him up in the woodlot and told him to catch lots of pests but to leave my chickens alone. A few days later, on a rainy afternoon, I looked up and found myself staring into his eyes (or one of his relatives; they all look alike, donchaknow) while the scaly, writhey body was wound around a sapling.


We found this old mill on one of our traditional Sunday afternoon drives.


On that same drive...


One of MeeMaw's ground cover plants.


The eggs will arrive someday. They will. They will.


The coop, just past dawn...


We recently watched "Crazy Heart," which we enjoyed very much. MeeMaw bought me the soundtrack, and my favorite song came home to me with considerable force yesterday. By now, most of you know that our pastor and his wife lost their other little twin son. Right after I heard the news, I headed to the hospital to see John and Jennifer. On the drive down out of the mountains, I was listening to "Brand New Angel." Bad theology but great music.



Well it rained last night
And the stars shone bright
And way off yonder
We heard the whippoorwill.

At the first light of dawn
We heard that he was gone.
Our hearts was empty
And our eyes was filled.

Open the gates;
Welcome him in.
There's a brand new angel,
A brand new angel
With an old violin.

In music he heard
All the songs of the birds.
And he said that some songs
Is like a clear fall day.

But he played his last refrain
Oh but the song will remain.
Though he's put his bow down
And closed his case.

Open the gates;
Welcome him in.
'Cause there's a brand new angel,
There's a brand new angel
With an old violin.



One of the cows was trying to calve when I took this picture. She must have given birth during the night, because the next day, she and her baby were off on the far hill.


Babes in springtime:






MeeMaw enjoying her new cedar-wood swing:



The girls on parade.


Bonnie supervising MeeMaw as the black-eyed peas get weeded.

Evening has come. Rest well, loved ones.


~ PeePaw

Resurrection Sunday

The red dog helped oversee my construction project on this long weekend. The chicks (or "chooks," as the Aussies call them) are growing so fast, I was compelled to turn serious energy towards the construction of their new home. Here's the raw material as I started on Good Friday morning.
I moved the chicks outside for fresh air and sunshine while I worked. Some leftover fence scraps made a handy pen for them. Bonnie thought, "Deli fresh!"
She got her come-uppance, though. Flower came to the fence and stared at the red dog. Bonnie thought she would bark at her and intimidate the bovine. Didn't work. Flower lowered her head and stomped her hoof and it scared the poodle-doodle out of our farm dog. She ran over to the shady patch and hunkered down and watched. But she didn't bark anymore...
While MeeMaw took a nap, I got the chicken tractor framed out and managed to get the coop atop the framing. Here's the work in progress.
And a back view...
My supervisor...
The romping chaos that is Possum Cough these days. Chicks in a crookedy pen, running dog with mischief on her walnut-sized brain, tools and various things strewn across the yard.

I love it so.

He is risen....He is risen indeed!

Rest well, loved ones.

~ PeePaw

Beginnings, Endings

A soft rain is falling at Possum Cough this afternoon. After a Friday and a Saturday that seemed more Floridian or Texan than Virginian, we are back to gray skies and cooler temperatures for our Sunday. Even thinking such a thing as I am about to write is unheard of for either MeeMaw or myself, but the truth is that we had hoped we would have another sunny day today. Such is the power of spring, and such is the effect of a long and often difficult winter. We're grateful for all of it, though, and that's not just chirp-speak.


Speaking of chirps, the first day of spring was utilized as Livestock Acquisition Day. We went down to town and bought six pullet chicks, along with the gear needed to raise the little things to healthy egg-laying adulthood. MeeMaw has appended preliminary names to the chicks, "A,B,C,D,E, and F." As soon as they do something to distinguish themselves one from the others, she will flesh those names out into full monikers. Like Abercrombie, Boujoulais, Crunk, DeTwana, Euripides, and Farmaceutical.










One of the other elders from church, Charles, heard that we had obtained a wood-burning stove. He remembered an oak and a hickory that had blown down in his pasture a year or two ago. One afternoon, he recruited Ralph (one of the deacons) to help him chainsaw the wood into manageable lengths. They loaded Charles' pickup truck full, and he brought it by that evening. Even though it doesn't feel like woodstove weather right now, we may burn some of it before springtime takes firm hold. They're even saying that we might get one more big snowstorm before the month is out. Wouldn't surprise us.

Bonnie is loving her fenced-in back yard. She prefers spending time out there, and has a knack for finding and gnawing on things that we don't want her to have. She dug an old shoe out of the goat shed (which I spent two hours straightening and cleaning Saturday) and chewed it to ribbons, and then found an old plastic dish with which we used to feed the barn cats. Chawed it up like 'baccy. Hateful thing.


But she loves her some fence.
She also prefers to take her cold dranks from the birdbath as opposed to the nice water dish we installed on the deck for her. The bath is stained from the tannin in the leaves that blow into it. You can see where her tongue has washed the tannin from the bottom of the bath



From Five Pines, MeeMaw and her doggy look as serene as a March breeze.
I didn't intend to end on a sad note, but one thing I was compelled to mention. One of Mr. D's cows (an old white lady MeeMaw named Flossie the first time she saw her amble past the fence) has been going downhill lately. She used to be quite active, and we enjoyed seeing her with her white-faced calf, Flower, as they fed and rested together daily. Flossie always carried an air of sadness to her. She was homely and mud-spattered, and we imagined the other cows thought of her as shabby and low-class. Naturally, we came to be very fond of her and Flower (the only white-faced calf among Mr. D's 100-strong herd).


When we came home from church this afternoon, we noticed Mr. D and his son and the country vet tending to Flossie, who was lying on the ground outside the big hay barn. They ran an IV through her, and then tried unsuccessfully to get her to stand. They pried her jaws open and gave her a drenching of some sort and tried again to get her on her feet, but she remained on her belly, legs tucked under her, eyes half-closed. The men finally left her where she was. Time passed and the other cows passed her on their way to the water trough. She watched them go, turning her head slightly and gazing at them through her heavy-lidded eyes. Alone in the spring rain, she sat and watched.


A few minutes ago, I went to look out and check on her. I was astounded to see that Flossie's calf, Flower, had gone down to be with her mama. And now, there she sits, close enough to nuzzle her mama and comfort Flossie as the old girl likely passes out of life. I have known human beings who didn't display this kind of devotion and affection for their own kin. Yes, Flossie is "just a cow," and Flower is "just a calf." They are mere dumb animals. But they are showing something fierce and beautiful this afternoon on a green Virginia hillside in the quiet rain, in the dying light, in the good order of created things.

Rest well, loved ones.


~ PeePaw