The Surly Farmer

I’ve been long absent from the site, and I do apologize to all my raving fans, clicking refresh until blisters form on their poor fingertips.

It’s been busy around here. Mowing the grass is an every fourth day event for as long as it keeps raining once in a while, and I’m still scurrying over to Charleston when I can to work on/empty the old crib. Recently, though, I added a new skill: haymaking. You may be familiar with the large round bales of hay seen dotting fields around this time of year, but around these parts (between our property and that of Dr. Evil’s folks), we don’t do it that way, for round bales require round BALERS, of which we have none. No friends, we did it the old fashioned way. On Thursday, we used the tractor and a bushhog to cut down the grass in one part of one field, then left it to dry until Saturday. Come Saturday, my job was to trail the tractor driven by Dr. Evil’s father, as he raked the now-dried hay up, and to clean out the rake every 20 feet or so, then neaten up the resulting piles of hay. Lotsa walking, but not too bad. Then once all the hay had been raked, it was not my job to assist loading the hay piles onto a buck rake on the front of the tractor. Oh, wait, did I tell you it was 109 degrees out, in a still, shadeless field? Because it was. Oy. But, we got it collected and put up in the hay bay, plenty of fodder for the horses should this coming winter be harsh. They’ll get some, regardless, but I believe the key point is to have more than you may need.

Which brings us to the sad news. Zoë the Cat is gone. She had developed a new habit of arising very early (sometimes 4AM, sometimes somewhat later) and just howl, howl, howling. For those of you unfamiliar with the howling abilities of the Siamese cat, suffice to say, they are impressive. She demanded exit from our bed early this morning, then around 8:15 let out a pretty good string of cat obscenities from downstairs. We figured she was swearing at Napoleon, a pretty cool cat who “belongs” to Dr. Evil’s folks. Alas, that was not the case. We went to investigate and found her collapsed in front of the front door, unable to right herself. It was apparent that the end was near, and I feel strangely fortunate to have been there for her at her end. She lay between me and Dr. Evil for her last few minutes and surrendered around 8:30. I will take my cue from her and cuss the hell out of the Grim Reaper when he eventually comes for me.

I count myself as lucky to have been able—without the demands of commerce—to dig her a proper grave. It was square and even and well-placed, and she will rest within sight of the desk from which I now write.

Our house is now very empty. The girls have gone off to school and beyond. The pets are no more. This whole life thing, man. I just don’t know.

Take care of yourselves, your others, and your furry friends.