In the morning, we gather to feed the chickens, brush the donkeys, check on the barn cats, let the dogs out. We clean the barn, and refill the water tanks for the sheep, and check on the waterer for the donkeys, and sweep out the chicken roost Lenore comes out, and Rose, and Maria leans down and the donkeys press their heads to her, and they talk in their way, unknown to me, unheard by me, but touching me.
The world does not need any sad images from me, but I was haunted all day by the miles and miles of brown corn fields ruined by the hurricane and the rains afterward. This picture, like many of storms and bitter cold and rain, did not appear sad to me, but beautiful. To me, the barn stands for life and the fields for nature.
The farmers say mold swept through the cornfields after all the rain, and some of this corn can be mixed and preserved, much of it just to be chopped down and discarded. A disaster for many farmers, yet still, haunting. I got out of the car and I stood with the camera for a long time, and a farmer pulled up his truck behind me, and he got out and stood with me, and he did not need to ask me what I was doing or why. We both stood there, and I kept thinking, Fields Of Brown, Fields of Brown.
Winston went after Maria Sunday when she tried to pick up one of the hens in the barn. I was ready to shoot him on the spot, but Maria said no, she didn’t need two roosters fighting over their hens. She was right. He is not aggressive, but this was a situation where they were all trapped and nervous and he was doing his job. As he attached himself to her leg, I kicked him halfway across the barnyard and he seemed to settled after that.
Yesterday I saw the most touching thing. Maria went over to him, sat down and told him in a soft voice that he was on probation, and if he did this again, he would be gone. I normally would have laughed at this, but I have learned not to laugh at Maria. For one thing, she is often right, and for another, is Sicilian, and you don’t want to laugh at them. Besides, the strangest thing happened. Winston cocked his head and listened quietly to every word she said, and as she moved about, he could not have been quieter. This has repeated itself.
My farmer friends say some roosters are just nasty and deserve to be dinner. Others just need to know they are not in charge. Like some dogs.
Maria is being cautious, but I think between the kick and the talk, he is getting the message. Maria maneuvered wisely among all of the testosterone. “You are not the biggest rooster on this farm!” I shouted. I think this will work out.
It was heartbreaking to see some of the damage in Vermont yesterday and I am very glad Maria and I are doing an “In Support of Vermont” leg to the book tour for “Going Home.” This tour will kick off at 2 p.m., October 2 at Misty Valley Books in Chester, Vt. and I’m not quite sure yet where we are going from there. Random House is helping me set this tour up, so I’ll keep everyone posted. Vermont can use all of the help anyone can offer, and they deserve it.
Before we left yesterday, we had to get some sick sheep into the barn so they could go home to Vermont. Because of all of the moisture and rain, we had some hoof and lung issues, and they are all under treatment. We used Rose and some grain – taking it easy with Rose – and the combination really worked. Good to be home.
Come and see.
