Day: February 9, 2015

I have to get Red a nice steak bone today. We were out in the pasture, the storm was intense, the wind blowing, the sheep were rushing back and forth from the Pole Barn to the feeder, perhaps rattled by the wind. I heard an intense creaking and rumbling and looked up to see a ton or more of snow cutting loose – starting to slide – from the roof of the Pole Barn roof and beginning to slide right over me, and over the sheep running beneath.

It was one of those farm moments that are small and dramatic, not the stuff of a movie, not perhaps of life and death, but quite a thrill if you are there. There was a roof rake nearby.  I yelled out for Red to come and help – the command (there is no time) is “Hey Red! Come Here!”, and he vanished in the four foot drifts, I wondered where he was going, and then in seconds I saw that he had circled around the feeder,  tunneled under and through the drift, and then popped up right in front of the oncoming sheep.

I told him to stay, grabbed the rake, poked the snow and triggered an impressive avalanche off of the roof, I could easily jump out of the way. The sheep froze where Red told them to, and then turned and ran the other way. It was a huge amount of snow and ice, it could have hurt me, it could have harmed the sheep. My heart was surely racing after that. Red is impervious to weather, it is all work for him, and we have worked together so long and so closely that communication is almost completely silent and instinctive.

We came inside, I wiped the snow and ice off of Red, went to warm my hands, when I turned around he was waiting at the door, eager to get back to work. And this, of course, is what is missing in the debate over the New York Carriage Horses and all working animals: complete ignorance about the need and drive of working animals to work. This is Red’s life, I am  honored to help him live it.

I often thing about what such a dog would have meant to a farmer in Ireland a hundred years ago, and I think of what such a dog means to me right now here on my small farm, and I am not even a farmer, but a writer with a farm.

It seems strange to say but the thing that most sticks in my mind from our recent trip to Disney World – it seems like only a decade ago – was the mole rat habitat that we saw in the Animal Kingdom. I went back to see it several times, these fascinating creatures – burrowing desert rodents –  live underground, they have bathrooms, pantry’s, bedrooms, play areas, living rooms. I did not imagine that Maria and I would be living like them in just a few weeks.

On Bedlam Farm, we are beginning to live a mole rat’s existence. We are digging paths and tunnels everywhere – to get to the car, the pasture, the chickens, the hay in the barn. One doctor tells me never to shovel snow, two nurses say I should shovel all I want, I am going with the nurses.  And raking the roofs as well. Red has a path, the donkeys and sheep have one, the chickens have a path to their heated water bowl, we have separate paths to our cars, another to the mailbox.

Each day the snow mountains get bigger, there are fewer places to put any of the snow. Still, we manage in our little wonderland, it is worse up North and elsewhere. I think every day of the energetic mole rats, burrowing underground, building what they need, surviving in tiny spaces where they can see nothing, only smell and feel.

I am excited to be a mole rate for awhile, soon enough there will be color and light for me, soon enough we will be expanding our Dahlia garden, sitting in our chairs, going to the Battenkill, herding sheep out in the pasture. The mole rats will never see any of these things, but since they do not know that these things exist, there is no sadness or loss for them. A lesson here, I am not 100 per cent certain what it is.

Each day, I understand better why I was so fascinated by the mole rats, this idea of a cozy, simple, underground existence, all made possible by industry and acceptance. I watched them for hours. I think they were preparing me for life in my upstate town in February in winter. As the bitter cold descends here later this week, we will burrow further and further into the ground, under our heated blanket, warmed by wood stoves and firewood, and by one another, watching eagerly for Spring. There is nothing sweeter than cuddling up underneath a good soft heated blanket in sub-zero weather with some one you love, the animals fed, the fires roaring.

A fireplace was the only thing the mole rats did not have, but in the desert, perhaps a fireplace would be redundant.

The mole rats were telling me something, preparing me for the life of a burrowing desert rodent. I love the lessons and connections of life, crisis and mystery just around the corner.

Humans are not as accepting as animals, but they are perhaps as adaptable sometimes. We are adjusting to he endless winter, as so many others are doing. We find a way to get around the storms, the snow, the challenges. On the farm, this kind of winter calls upon us to be more ingenious, disciplined, patient and determined.

It is time to pay attention to the amount of snow on the rooftops of the house and barns, the snow needs to be raked off or the roofs can collapse. It is time to chip away at the ice along the gutters, they can jam and leak into the house. We have to spray the wood in the barns or the donkeys will gnaw through it, they get bored standing in the Pole Barn all day, there is nowhere to graze, the spray is like a hot sauce, equines don’t like it.

We need to get up early, to feed the animals. We need to rake the rooftops three of four times a day. We need to shovel the paths at least twice a day. We call upon our friend and neighbor Tyler, who loves storms, he is out snowmobiling, to help us keep the paths clear and move the mountains of snow around. He comes by in the late afternoon.

I spent some time this morning looking for a source of seasoned firewood, our firewood is getting low this winter, the cold has been unbroken since Christmas, the wood stoves are going all day. We have never used this much wood so soon, a note to make for next year. I double-checked on the hay, we are good until Spring.

I found a firewood supplier nearby, he is a smart man, he stores wood in the winter and waits for the panic to set in during February if the winter is harsh. It costs more, it is worth it, seasoned wood burns hotter and crisper than new wood, and causes less creosote to build up on the pipes and chimneys.

We learn to keep doors open and keep some heat on at night to keep pipes from freezing. We have to dig out an area for the dogs to run and eliminate, the snow is too high for them to walk now. We have to store food and water, warm up the cars, give grain to the sheep and donkeys for energy, bring warm water to the chickens – their heated waterer freezes in sub-zero temperatures. We have to brush off the cars and move them so Vince the plow man can come by and clear the driveway. There is no more room for him to put the snow, it is building up.

We have to maintain the mail box, the door freezes and clogs, it has to be cleaned and cleared each morning. We have to dig out a path for the oil man, we might need more heating oil as well.

We have to be alert for egg-laying, the eggs will freeze in a minute in this kind of cold. Spring looms here in February, it is only a few months away. We have adapted to this snow and cold, it is the new normal. We know what we have to do, this is our life, the life we chose. We accept our responsibilities, understand our different roles (I am  not allowed on the roof), ask for help when we need it. Odd, but there is no complaining in this house, we have fallen out of the habit. We will not speak poorly of our lives.

And yes, Red teaches me acceptance. It makes no difference to him if there is no snow or a ton of snow, he will do his job, the sheep will be where they are supposed to be.