Cycles

One of the things I like about farm life is the security of seasonal cycles. It’s harvesttime again. The corn pours like a river of gold from the harvester into hoppers which are taken to a local grain elevator to sell. Some is stores in the silos to sell later in the spring when prices are higher. Winter, spring and sumer will come and go with their own rituals, but then harvest will be here again. How dull life would be if their were no seasons and cycles. I’m sure this applies to life, but you can decide how.

Chimneys

It had been a cold rainy spring when I arrived in early May. None of the spring flowers I love were blooming yet. It remained cold and rainy, so I cleaned house. I was happy to be able to use the fireplace. A fire in the hearth is the feeling of home.  I detailed the kitchen and dinning room. I'm no longer steady enough to use my chain saw, so I hired a crew to trim the ivy and cut brush. It was gratifying to get that done. The wheat looks good, but since the weather has become warmer and wetter, we may have to stop planting wheat. Wheat likes cold, dry weather. I'll be sorry because I like to see my wheat fields waving in a breeze.  I've been getting black mold in the bedrooms, so had had my chimneys rebuilt. That should keep out moisture.

Eggs

I arrived last Monday. As usual, I've been busy cleaning the farm house. I, of course, took time to buy fresh eggs from a neighbor.  They really are better than supermarket eggs. It's been unusually cold for May. The mottos are true. "Change not a clout till May be out." And "Who doffs his coat on a winter's day will gladly put it on in May." I've been finding mold in the upstairs bedrooms which have chimneys above them. I called a chimney specialist and learned that they needed to be repaired - o, the expense. Sigh.

Farm Budget

I'm so disappointed that I can't afford to go to the farm this fall.  Traveling, especially rental cars are too expensive to go as often as I wish.  Jason, my farm "son" just sent me some pictures.  He's harvesting my farm now.  I wish I could be there in the chilly evening with the fireplace going, woodsmoke scenting the harvest air.  Here is a picture Jason just sent.

Setback

     I never have enough time or money to bring the farm back to it's showplace beauty that it was when my parents were alive.  I had hoped to rent it out for farm weddings, but when I started to work on that plan, I discovered there are no wedding planners in my part of Ohio.  This is a very rural area. People here generally get married in their church and have the reception in the church social hall.  Some have their weddings on their own farms.  

     I had thought about farm vacations, but the house needs more repair.  I don't think people around her want to vacation on a farm.  I have come to realize my plans were unrealistic.  This year I can't afford to spend time on the farm except in July.  I don't want to miss my family reunion.  I've also come to realize that it would be a waste of money to fix up the farm.  When I have to sell it, no one will want to pay big money on a farm house.

     It's been hard to accept the end of this dream.  In life, I've been able to achieve most of my dreams which makes this even more difficult to accept.  My children don't want to live on the farm.  I guess I will go when I can and live in it as it is now.  I won't sell it if I don't have to sell.  I love the farm.  It's the home in my heart.  My self identity is tied to the farm.  As the say, I just need a hug and five million dollars.

Work

I haven't written much this visit home. It's been largely work. When I got here, I spent a week cleaning the parts of the house I would use. I became tired, lonely and anxious.  The weather was generally cold and rainey which limited gardening which I like to do. I have to bless my mother and those who lived here before I lived here. Even if I couldn't garden, there were purple hycathin in the long spring grass. Then there were lilacs, bushes so old and big, someone long ago must have liked lilacs. Probably a women. Bless her. Then there is a cloud of allium migrating from the bed where my mother planted them. Now I have Lily-of the-Valley. Thanks Mom.
The whole time, I've been finding and dealing with repair people which is not pleasant. And there is always money to manage. My farm budget is so tight. I'm concerned to make sure I can pay the oppressive property tax this summer. I don't belive I can afford to come back for my family reunion this summer which I long to do. I'm only complaining l little.

Neighbors

Yesterday, a smiling young man knocked on my back door. He had a red curly beard and mustache,
He shook my hand , and introduced himself has Adam. Honest. He told me that he, his wife, and two youg daughters lived in a house hidden in the woods on the south side of my farm. He said they had wondered about me for awhile. He asked me if I had given permission to hunt on my farm. I told him I hadn't posted it forbidden. Like all the farmer abound here, we dislike it when tthe deer roll around on the crops and smash them, so I was of two minds. He said he had seen hunters chimbing over my fence between our farms. I told him to post it forbidden if he liked. He was worried that a stray bullet mind strike one of his daughters. Actually, I often worried in hunting season when the guns were close that I might be hit while working in the yard. I'm on the fence about this risk. I invited him in and we talked a little about our families and the age of my farmhouse. He said he and his daughters were picking mushrooms in the woods. Today he appeared and asked I would like some mushrooms. This is just how neighbors are around here. I'm always embarrassed that I have nothing to give in return. My parents always has fresh product from the garden or canned jam my father made. He prided himself on his jam and jelly skills which was well deserved. It just hit me now that I should can marmalade from my fruit trees in Florida and bring it here to use for that propose. Any way, a digression there. He offered to go bring mushroom. I ventured to ask if he was experience at picking wild mushroom. He said he was. His father had taught him. I reminded him of the old expression: There are bold pickers, and there are old pickers, but there are no old, bold pickers. He left me his name and his families names and a phone number in case I needed help with anything. Off he went. Will he return with mushrooms. Probably. Will I dare to eat them. They might taste wonderful and I would have missed a chance to taste them. The other possibility is unthinkable. Would you eat them?