Heifer-After

LOSING APRIL IN FEBRUARY:
AN ELEGIAC (de)COMPOSITION IN HONOUR OF OUR LATE HEIFER

The Old Woman whistled and the wild wind blew
And the beetle-ridden spruce tree cracked in two
And that was the start of the whole to-do:
The week we composted a cow.
















Aye, down went the spruce on the old house roof.
While the man in the moon looked on, aloof...
Then the heifer slipped on a half-lit hoof,
The week we composted a cow.

Up with the dawn and our dear heifer down--
No time to mourn for those eyes of brown--
For the neighbors instantly started to frown,
The week we composted a cow.

The experts we called said to gather some brush.
Order a truckload of horse-poop! Rush!
(The neighbors peered with a horrified hush)
The week we composted a cow.















No time to weep, farmer. No time to yell.
We downloaded a fact sheet, (from Cornell),
Then we laid down quicklime and covered her well,
The week we composted a cow.

Well, word got around. The Selectmen beckoned.
The neighbors made motions and looked for a second.
And so we went down, and wrangled, and reckoned
The week we composted a cow.

Impressed by our fact sheets and photos and charts,
The Selectmen pondered it all in their hearts,
Then... commended our decompositional arts!
The week we composted a cow.

Now April the heifer's tucked safe in her pile.
We permit ourselves, now, a tear and a smile.
But the neighbors won't ask us to tea for a while...
Now that we've composted a cow.


--copyright Mainecelt February 11, 2010

Waiting for the Wind

It feels like Spring.

Aye, I'm fully aware that it's early November, but this morning is so golden and the day so full of possibilities, I almost expected the dooryard to be decked with a blooming carpet of crocuses.

Happy Celtic New Year to one and all! Samhainn has arrived, and with it the Dark Half of the year when we step inside, rest, and replenish our energies. I open my arms to welcome this darkness, even as I enjoy the golden light. It has been an exhausting agricultural season and I am much in need of rest!

Happy Election Day to one and all! Whichever way you plan to vote, hie yersel tae the claisest booth an dae yir civic duty!!! (Sorry, but my constitutional right to free speech allows me to use Scots words, now and then.) Here in our small town, we revel in the act of exercising our rights. We glory in our historic--and energy-filled--town hall, where the old wooden voting booths have been carefully stocked with "number two pencils with the erasers cut off." There are no machines to fret about, no touch-screens or hanging chads. My partner's favorite saying bears repeating here: "We're so far behind, we're ahead!"

Tonight, when the polls close, I'll join local citizens of every political stripe to hand-count and tally every single vote. We'll each be paired with someone of a different party registration and sent to a table with a stack of fifty ballots and a tally sheet. We'll take turns being "caller" and "counter", then check the two tallies against each other to make sure each count was correct. The ballots and tally sheets will be then be handed to the town clerk for further official documentation and proper handling. We'll do this until there are no more stacks left to count. With the number of questions and candidates on the ballot this year, we anticipate a very, very long night. Fortunately, rumor has it that the town clerk will be providing a grand spread for this gaggle of vote-counters: not only the usual plate of cookies from the "Town Clerk Emeritus," but other home-baked goodies, casseroles and pizza.

And now, I'd love to write more, but I have to seize the day and take full advantage of the mild weather before the Wild Winds of Change (and Winter) hit. There are trim-boards to paint, creatures to tend, pig-food to purchase, non-hardy bulbs to dig and store, and the ever-elusive fieldwork contractors to find. (We're still in need of someone with a tractor & manure-spreading rig to distribute a 30-ton load of woodash on our future fields. Know anyone you can recommend?) And then there's the important matter of a birthday present for one of last year's farmhands... time to get going and "get 'er done."

I remember, growing up in the Pacific Northwest, that we'd often have fantastic wind-storms on Election Day. We always referred to them as The Winds of Change. After a campaign season of ridiculous length and feather-ruffling rhetoric, I'm ready for the wind. I'm ready for a cleansing storm that snaps loose and shoves off the dead branches of our current (lack of) leadership. Though it's quiet just now, and the light is still hazy and golden, I'm watching the weatherglass for signs of change... and I'm planning to vote for Barack Obarometer!