Living on a Farm

I’m inspired by things that happen
To brighten up the day.
I love to watch the break of dawn
When the birds come out to play.

And then there come the cotton tails
Hopping along the road.
They love to come out in the morning light
From their bramble bush abode.

Then hear the squirrels chatter
As they hustle through the trees,
With cheeks puffed up with hazelnuts
To store for the winter’s freeze.

The bees are humming all around
The honeysuckle bush,
Whose strong clean scent of sweet perfume
Permeates the morning hush.

The cows are lowing at the barn.
It’s time to open the gate.
The morning chores are next in line
‘Tis hurry, the cows won’t wait.

Now hear the chickens cackle.
It’s time to feed the hogs.
And then its out to the old wood hut,
To gather the winter logs.

‘Tis great to live down on the farm
Where nature rules your fate.
To hear the song of the mocking bird
From out the garden gate.

Soon the days will shorten.
Mother gets out the winter coats.
Just hear that old mare whinny,
Begging for a feed of oats.

As the days get dark and dreary,
And the snow blankets the land,
We sit around by the old log fire,
Listening to a cowboy band.

Then it’s off to sleep in a nice warm bed
With my head on a pillow of down.
I really love it down on the farm
More peaceful than living in town.

*****

I never thought of Grandpa Don as a farm kid. I knew he grew up on the Oregon coast and that when my mom was a little girl he was a commercial fisherman. I guess I just always assumed that his father was a fisherman as well. But no; Grandpa Don was a farm boy who knew what it was like to put in a full days hard work from an early age. While I'm sure there were times he just wanted a break, years later he could look back fondly at all the hard work of his youth. It's amazing how different our childhoods were; he had the daily chores of feeding the animals and chopping logs, while I was supposed to put away the clean dishes everyday and mow the lawn once a week. Oh how easy my life has been in comparison.

Unlike Grandpa Don, I shudder at the thought of taking care of pigs. When I was in ninth grade I raised a hog as part of my agricultural science class. I thought it would be fun, and if nothing else I would at least get to touch a pig. I was wrong. While I did get to touch a pig on day one, it was anything but fun. Chasing 30 piglets in the rain and mud to give them a shot in the rump only to have them immediately poo all over themselves, and in the process you, is not my idea of fun. The year I had that pig included many days like that; shoveling out the pens, transporting them to the fair, narrowly avoiding a pig attack in the presentation ring, the list goes on. But who knows, maybe when I have a little more experience and the past is a little farther in the past I'll be able to look back fondly and laugh (or at least not feel sick to my stomach).