The Christmas Card

Winter has come to the Abbey. The fields are white and the trees are covered with crystal icing. The dawn comes up on a winter wonderland. Temperatures have been brutal up until now with wind chills of 25 below zero. Today is going to be warm; I think we actually will hit 18 F, which is a heat wave when you think about it. It is actually 43 degrees warmer. The funny thing about really cold is it’s just cold! There is no degree. It’s simply just cold. The snow crunches under foot and it’s difficult to breathe without a scarf around your nose. You dress in layers. Pajamas first, so that when you are back in the house you can shed the remainder of EVERYTHING YOU OWN and crawl back in bed. By the way, this applies for both morning and evening.

Once the temperature drops below zero all the animals are brought in each night. The alpaca only need to be out of the wind. Their fleece will keep them warm. The horses on the other hand need the insulated barn. Our barn has a low ceiling so their body heat keeps the barn a little bit warmer.

Thinking about Christmas, I had a wonderful idea. Let’s put Santa hats on all the horses and take a picture for our Christmas card! The horses will line up by the fence, which they do all the time, and it will make a great picture.

I was off to Elmer’s Feed Emporium. The Feed Emporium had become one of my favorite places to shop, and frankly the only place I go lately. Elmer has everything, feed and feeders for all animals, Carharts and their look alike, lots of machinery parts, everything the modern farmer needs. The days of Ann Taylor, Brooks Bros, and Nordstrom’s are gone. I figure if they don’t have it at Elmer’s, I don’t need it! Imagine that coming from my mouth. I bought seven hats and phoned Sarah and Jesse.

That weekend we went to the barn with the hats and Sarah’s good camera. We cut a slit in the hats to place them over their ears, which would look cute hanging down. We put the horses in the stalls. First off, the hats just would not stay on, so Jesse used some twine to tie the hat on each horses head. Bob and Blu were really good about it, but Griffin put up a stink. We finally got it on. Little Ellie was probably the worst shaking her head. We were ready!

We had all hat in place and we let the horses out. Griffin bit Althea on the way out and she started running. Sarah, while heading out the door with her camera, slipped on the hillside and fell face first into the questionable snow. I had the pail of feed to entice everyone to come to the fence for photos, but now they were chasing me around trying to get into the pail. My boot stuck in the mud, I couldn’t free it, and decided to pull my foot out rather than fall over. I was hopping around with a boot on one foot, and the other with stocking foot, which by now was freezing and covered in muck. Buy the time Jesse got Althea quieted down, most of the other hats were on the ground or under their necks. At this point we were ready to kill each other. Sarah was storming back to the house covered with muck and worried about her “GOOD” camera. Jess was trying to capture each horse to cut the hat of their necks. I was madly looking for my boot, which had disappeared somewhere in the mud. I had long past given up the pail of food to Hennessey. Defeated and dirty we left the horses -- hat free, closed the barn doors and walked, or for me, hopped, back to the house in total silence.

We had some pictures of this chaos. Half a horse here and half there, some ground snow where the horses use to be, a nice shot of the rear end on Elle, and one where I slipped a Santa hat over a chicken, but all you could see was chicken feet. Oh well! I suggested that we do a collection of these pictures and entitle it “Have a Happy Fricken Christmas,” needless to say no one laughed.

We finally did get the Santa hat photos, doing it one horse at a time. We place them in cameo‘s on the card and wished everyone a wonderful Christmas and Joyous New Year.

As in all things, from the ashes comes inspiration, my Christmas present for my family this year are heavy weight alpaca socks for everyone. As for the Santa hats they are hanging alongside the stockings on each stall door, waiting to be filled with apples, snacks and candy canes on Christmas eve. Inside it is warm, the smell of hot apple cider comes in from the kitchen, the Christmas tree stands in the living room twinkling with lights, gifts lay under its bows and as always, it’s just another day at the Abbey.

The Radio

It’s 9 p.m. at the Abbey and it’s been dark now for four and a half hours. Yuck! And when I refer to dark, it’s really dark, not like city-dark, hand-in-front-of-your-face dark. There is nothing to reflect light except the moon (which is not shinning) and the stars. Walking is difficult because you cannot see the ground. Now that’s dark.

I turned on the 9 p.m. news simply because I can’t keep awake for the 10 p.m. news. I am a real live wire! I should come with a warning: Anything said after 10 p.m. is not credible. Early rising has to do with the terrible curse handed down from my father, and his father before him. We were up before six in the morning … every morning! Dad would say, “Any one sleeping past seven was a sleeping Jesus.” I heard that quote all my life. I have no idea what it means.

The weatherman blinks on the television set and says a front is coming in; it should be here around midnight. Swell! The temperatures will drop below zero and probably stay there … UNTIL SPRING! Well actually he didn’t say “until spring,” but I read it in his face.

A bit of a shiver runs through me. I began to take inventory. First, did I have enough groceries? I think this is always the first question everyone asks at any weather change. Do I need to get out and buy groceries before it hits? Next, is the car winterized? Is there enough diesel for the bobcat? And last, are the animals water heaters plugged in? The water heaters … hum? I think so -- pretty sure-- not positive – and absolutely not positive. That being said, I put on the hat, coat and gloves to go check if the water is plugged in. Now, if you were familiar with The Abbey, the only way to get to either barn is down hill, and going down on frozen ground is always an adventure. You never know how you will end up. Well that’s not exactly the truth. You will always end up at the bottom of the hill. It’s the journey that can be thrilling. Reaching the bottom and shinning the flashlight on the waterer, I was relieved to see the heater was on. All is well and I am ready for sleep.

The morning started out with a bang – 5:50 a.m. and both dogs suddenly went into a barking frenzy. I am sound asleep and want to stay that way. “Lay down,” I croak at the dogs hoping they will just go back to sleep. I am teetering on that unconscious state where everything is perfect. But the barking continues. Even a pillow won’t silence this. Finally I stagger to the back door and let them out. Back in the kitchen I look out towards the barn; it is still dark and I can’t see anything. I need coffee! Letting the dogs back in, the frigid wind hits me. It’s cold -- the weather man was right.

Have you ever wrapped your hands around your coffee cup; it’s great. The cup is warm, it makes your hands warm, it makes you warm, and it smells wonderful, I love coffee.

Sitting in the kitchen, hunched over the coffee cup, I wait for the sun to peek over the horizon. It’s 6:30, and the sky is beginning to lighten. Looking out towards the barn, I can see the fencing … fence, fence, fence, hole, fence, fence. HOLE! There’s a hole in the fence. WHERE ARE THE HORSES? They are still in the pasture, but the fence is broken, really busted broken. Something went on, probably at the time the dogs were carrying on. My peaceful morning is shot, my coffee goes down in two gulps and I grab my coat, hat and gloves; out I go into the cold crisp morning. Something happened here and it’s vital that I get to the fence and fix it before the horses get out and decide to run in the fields.

I called Sarah on my cell phone to let her know what is going on, while talking, I approaching the paddock. The horses are milling around, nervous and rather on edge. That should have been my first clue. But no, grabbing some twine in one hand and the telephone in the other, I walked right in. The horses are at the feeder and I am about ten feet away. As I cross the over to the ground towards the broken fence, I can see foot prints … footprints … coyote footprints! They were here, in with the horses. SUDDENLY, there’s a noise from the woods on the other side of the feeder. Instantly the horses are off, spooked and on a dead run, all seven, AT ME! Now I think I have written in other notes, that it’s been said that stampeding horses will not step on you if they can help it. This is true! I know this now, I have first-hand knowledge of this; however, as they pass by they will kick back and forth and throw you to the ground. The cell phone flew out of my hand in one direction and the rope in the other; lying there I can see the dust of their hooves as they head to the other side of the paddock. I can hear the phone ringing about 25 feet away, staggering to my feet I pick it up. I’ve just manage to give my daughter a heart attack. She is freaked. Calm down, I’m OK! I am just a little shook up. They really did not have a chance to build up speed when they passed me. It will hit me later, but for now all is well.

Why is it that hind sight is always 20/20? Coyotes! I knew they were out there. Rethinking the morning, and this whole mess, it only makes sense. The break in the fence had to be done by something very powerful -- i.e.: a horse. The horses were spooky!! There were footprints all over the ground. Duh! I should have called everyone into the barn before I entered the paddock. The fence is fixed; I am a little stiff from hitting the ground, but basically none the worse for wear.

Vern, the clerk at Jemsky’s assures me that a radio will keep the coyotes away. Home I went with a small plug in radio for the horse barn. There has been some dissension as to what station horses like, for now, in the wee hours of the morning, you will hear the sound of Christmas carols coming from the horse barn, joyfully announcing, the holiday season and just another day at The Abbey.

God said : ”Hello Moto”


Halloween is over and Thanksgiving will soon be upon us here at the Abbey. We have much to be thankful for: the alpaca are all healthy, our girls are pregnant, and their fleece is growing thicker each day. The horses are gaining weight due to a constant diet of hay and grain now that the pasture grass is gone. They will need the extra fat when the winter temperatures drop to simply COLD. If it gets too cold everyone comes into the barn.

The fog has begun to roll over the fields at sundown … God is a magician, slowly fading everything from sight … trees, barns, fencing and animals all disappear behind the faint gray curtain that hangs just outside the windows. I need to go out to throw hay for the horses. They are somewhere in the pasture. Our barn is just a short walk, but in the fog it’s easy to lose your direction. I ended up at the paddock fence. At first I thought I would just throw the hay over the fence but being 5’1, and the fence at 5 foot it poses many problems, the worst being hay down your shirt. I hate that! So I drag bales into the paddock and break them up into little piles for each horse.

Calling them, I can feel the ground start to quake and hear the sound of their thundering hooves coming closer and closer. Then it hits me, here they come, and here I am. I’ll never make it to the barn…RUN! No, they’re coming … where? I can’t see anything! Here they come … OH SHIT; they’ll be here before I can get to the gate. Grabbing the barn overhang post I cling to it like a drowning person clings to floating debris, my only thought: “Stupid, really, really stupid.” These guys are gentle giants but giants all the same, and I just called them BEFORE I got out of the paddock. They say that if found in front of stampeding horses they will try to avoid stepping on you. I don’t know who “they” are and frankly, I don’t want to challenge this saying. Before I can blink they are all around me. It’s okay, it’s over. I really love these guys!

My friends, including the kids, tell me I am crazy to be in with these animals. I am beginning to wonder myself. Standing there, my next fear is the sounds of the coyotes. Their barking, yipping and howls are very disturbing and sounds quite close. One of our two chickens has disappeared and we suspect the coyotes, but don’t really know. I didn’t think they were brave enough to come into the yard until a few nights ago; when returning from the barn, I walked around the house to find two coyotes standing about 100 yards in front of me. There we stood for what seemed about an hour. They, looking at me, and me looking at them. A Mexican Standoff. No one moved. What to do, what to do? Turn and run? Stand there and yell? Then it came to me, the old football adage “the best defense is a good offense. “ Attack! Off I went straight at the enemy, a mad woman leaping up and down, flailing my arms and yelling like a banshee. They instantly disappeared, and I with knees trembling and heart pounding walked back to the house. I really need a cup of coffee!

Morning comes clear and frost free. The cat lies on the patio apparently asleep except for a slight twitch of her tail now and again. The chicken and the cat have bonded. They are special friends. Susie the cat usually naps basking in the sunshine on the patio and Moto, the chicken, likes to sneak up though the bushes, alongside the house and patio, until she is within striking range. Then suddenly she’ll burst out through the bushes, wings back and neck outstretched to grab the cats tail. Then the game is on. The cat leaps up and is off after the chicken until the chicken, suddenly stops. Then the roles are reversed, off goes the cat with the chicken in tow. Later you can find them, chicken and cat, laying together on the patio basking in the sunshine.

The cat is allowed in the house now, and Moto sits by the door and waits. Jesse tells me that if that chicken is coming in the house, he will have me committed. I know he secretly likes the chicken though. If we are eating out on the patio, he is the first to give Moto bits of food from his plate. Moto will jump in the air and grab the food from his fingers. Several times I have found Jesse, chicken in lap, napping on the chase under the awning.

Moto is old, she was an old chicken when she came to us, and just before Thanksgiving she left us for that big hen house in the sky. We buried her alongside the house, in the sun shine, where she loved to make holes. I know Susie misses her, I sure do; Jess, well, not so much, but then again it’s just another day at The Abbey.

The RAT -- It's Just Another Day at the Abbey

The RAT!

It’s late fall at The Abbey; the leaves have all fluttered down from the trees and turned brown on the ground. The fields are all bare and plowed under with the exception of my neighbor, Edward. Ed is old for his years -- farming does that! His face is wrinkled and weathered, his hands are the size of baseball mitts and his posture is bent. He’s worked the land all his life and he isn’t too much for talking. He’s friendly enough, but just doesn’t seem to have the skill of conversation. He was telling me that the reason the corn is still in the field is that ”it’s drying.” Actually, I asked Ed, “why haven’t you harvested the corn?” and his answer was “drying,” that’s the way our conversations usually go. He is a one-word-man. Sometimes Old Ed will get real chatty and hits you with a three- or four-word sentence, but not often. I like him.
We have filled our feed bins with food for the winter. The barn is full of hay and it looks like we are ready for the snow. Jesse noticed a small hole in one of the feed sacks the other day. Just a little hole but he grabbed some tape and closed it up. The following morning the tape was still there but along side was another little hole. We have had a visitor in the night -- a hungry one.
Off we went to Jemski’s Market and Taxidermy for a trap. There on the shelf was “…the only trap you will ever need,” according to the clerk. Now this thing was four inches wide and nine inches long. Big enough to take out a small dog or cat, and I felt that perhaps this might be a little overkill; but again, we were assured by the clerk that this was the just what we needed, because “…you aren’t dealing with no mouse, nope, it is a RAT.” Did someone ring a gong?
That afternoon we watched Jesse bait the trap with cheese, and gasped at the vicious snap of the huge metal spring and wire. This thing could take of a finger if you weren’t careful. Placing it gently next to the feed sack we retired for the evening.
The morning came and no one had given much thought to the trap until after breakfast. Neither Sarah nor I are too keen on this type of thing so we sent Jesse down to the barn to investigate the crime scene. Returning from the barn with the trap in hand, he indicated that the RAT had somehow taken the cheese but not sprung the trap. He thought peanut butter would work better; it sticks to the lever and will not be so easy to remove -- back to the barn with the peanut butter-bated trap.
The following morning, Jess was anxious to head down to the barn and view the demise of the creature that has making holes in our sacks. Again, he returned with the trap. Somehow this RAT has licked off the peanut butter and miraculously avoided springing the trap. It wasn’t the trap, each time he barely touched it with a wire it thundered down and flew into the air. This was becoming a contest: Man versus Rat.
Taking more cheese from the refrigerator, he used a light string and tied the cheese to the lever, securing it very well with several knots. Again the next morning, the cheese was gone; in fact, the string was just hanging there knots and all on the un-sprung lever. This was becoming a game of wit, and frankly, Jesse was losing.
This time he duct taped the cheese to the lever, to the point that you really could not see the cheese. And again in the morning the duct tape was gnawed away and its contents gone -- the trap still tense and ready to kill.
Now Jesse is a fairly gentle man, even with his 6’2” football stature, so Sarah and I were surprised to see him heading down to the barn with lawn chair and shot gun in hand. Auh, Jesus, Joseph and Mary, I exclaimed, (my Irish mother saying). “He is going to blow a hole in the barn.” Hours passed and suddenly we heard the loud report of a gun. We looked at each other and held our breath. Up from the barn he came, gun in one hand and in the other hanging by it tail, a dead RAT.
The saga is over. The mighty hunter is back from the hills, and as always, it’s just another day at The Abbey. Ruth

Being a Shepherd

It the Halloween season here at The Abbey. Our woods are bright with color. The air is crisp, and there is a faint smell of burning leaves. Huge green behemoths crawl across the fields harvesting the crops, and the dust leaves the most spectacular sunsets.

It’s pumpkin time and I bought three. Of course we are all adults, and to hear it told, I forced my family to carve them. This is family fun, right? Jesse, my son-in-law, made three triangles and a circle indicating that it was a surprised pumpkin – no one was surprised! Men have no imaginations. Sarah did a wolf, very nice. Me, after long deliberation I chose a turkey. It seemed fitting. Setting our candle-lit pumpkins outside on the door step, we celebrated Halloween. Well not totally.

I had to buy candy, “Halloween candy,” the candy that made up my Halloween as a child. So out I went and bought $30.00 of my favorites. Now I realize that no one in their right mind would walk down a three-quarter of a mile driveway to get a ten-cent candy bar, but that’s not the point! It’s the tradition of the thing! And frankly, I like candy.

I found out that being on a farm you must be many things. There is no such thing as “just a farmer.” We are multi-complex creatures; farmer … yes, but also, engineer, veterinarian, botanist, electrician, mechanic, and guardian and sometimes a Sherlock Homes detective.

Arriving at The Abbey around 7:00 PM, Sarah and I ventured down to the barns to feed the animals. While carrying hay to the horses I notice tracks in the wet sand. Must be deer tracks? It’s deer season; maybe one ran through here? Huh! Not sure. Odd! Very Odd!

Following the prints, they passed the alpaca barn and wandered out to the pasture heading for the woods. Uh, oh! There it was. The tell tale sign … a pile of small black bean poop -- alpaca poop! One of the girls is out. Sister Linnea, our mahogany girl is missing. Great! A dark-colored alpaca loose on a dark night. And to add just a little intrigue to the situation, IT’S THE BEGINNING DAY OF HUNTING!

There we were, Sarah and I, flash light in hand, following the tracks out to the woods. Suddenly her tracks disappeared. Sweeping the field with the light we saw nothing. Linnea, God Bless her little feet, has double backed on us.

Heading back towards the barn, Sarah said she would get the car, perhaps we could see more with the headlights and have some protection from getting shot by hunters. Wait, my new car? In the plowed field? With bullets and hunters? My last new car ever; the one that was to be the kept-for-good car? The only-driven-on-Sunday car? I am having second thoughts, but it’s too late. Stumbling through the field on the south side of the barn, and at the edge of our property, there she was. “I found her,” I screamed at Sarah, hoping she would hear me, she didn’t . Here comes the car over the freshly plowed field, headlights flickering up and down in rapid session. Did I tell you that I picked the light interior?

I figure that if we don’t get shot by some sleepy hunter, arrested by the DNR for shinning deer, or attacked by the coyotes, we have a sporting chance of catching her and returning her to the barn.

Armed with the lights of the car, the spot light, and a rope, we slowly walked towards Sister Linnea. She took one look at us and bolted.

Plan 1 “The Chase”
Running in a plowed field is like having one leg ten inches shorter than the other, but you don’t know which leg. To watchers from afar, all you would see is a bobbing light, then sudden stop, the light shining straight up, and then bobbing again, and stopping over and over. Several falls later we gave up the chase.

Plan 2 “The Lasso”
Taking the rope, we make a large circle large enough to go over her head with plenty of room. OK, wait until things are settling down. We return to our original positions with Linnea in the middle. We slowly move in. First 20 feet away, then 15, then 10 … just a few more feet and we are in the range to throw the lasso. Stealth, that’s what’s needed. Quietly, slowly … THROW … missed, now begin the yelling and running and falling again. Dirt has a distinct taste!

Plan 3 “The Bushes”
There is a small bunch of bushes by the fence where Linnea likes to run through. So here’s the plan, Sarah you will crouch down in the bushes, and I will herd her between the fence and the bushes. You jump out and lasso her … piece of cake. Now after three hours of running and falling trying to catch this animal, as God is my witness, this plan sounded sane. All was ready, Sarah was in the bushes, I was slowly herding the alpaca towards the fence and the bushes, and it looked like this one was going to work. Aim, slowly … wait … JUMP! The rope flew through the air brushing the top of Linnea’s head. There was a stumble, a scream and the back side of an alpaca heading into the field. Her tail pointed straight up in the air like the middle finger of a New York cab driver.


Plan 4 “Sex”
Get the boy. Now the car tires are knee deep in the field; me, I am hunkered down in a rut; and, in the next field the neighbor passing by in his combine with all the lights a blaze. I sheepishly waive. It will be a miracle if we don’t get arrested.

Here comes Sarah with Athos, our big male. The minute the headlights hit him, zoom here comes Linnea tail in the air. It’s over, Sarah, Athos and Linnea waltz back to the barn, I drive my dirty, dirty car. Success! Sex works all the time.

Dragging, we head back to the house, relieved, tired, filthy with mud, a job well done, and the knowledge that it’s just another day at The Abbey. Ruth

The Town

The Abbey is seven miles from the closest town, not taking into account the driveway which is three-quarters of a mile long. The land is located at the end of this drive. Now most people, I speak of farming folks and those who has lived in a rural community, would have run from such a property. Me … it was love at first sight. I gave no thought to getting the mail, putting out the garbage, or repairing the ruts and pot holes, let alone the SNOW.

Nope! All I saw was the wooded hills and a peaceful valley with a lovely gentle little stream flowing through it. Picturesque! I gave no thought to the snow- plowed road being three-quarters of a mile away, no thought of how to take the garbage can to the road, or what fun it would be plowing through the snow with the car to get the mail. There is a reason to be close to the road.
Another huge disappointment was my lovely stream, the one the County calls a “drainage ditch”. I don’t care; I still refer to it as a gentle SLOW moving stream. I have found, too, that if you buy the little poison mosquitoes rings, they work fairly well in eliminating most of the little buggers from breeding in the water.

The house sits on the far hillside of this valley overlooking the barns, valley and approaching driveway. The nearest town is Silver Water. As you enter, there is a sign that says “I am coming are you ready?” Really gives you thoughts of vandalism. This sleepy little community has more churches than bars -- a very rare commodity in today’s world. I think most Christian religions are represented here. There are the Catholic, Protestant, Lutheran, Reformed, Methodist and Baptist Churches. I guess that if you don’t get the right answer at one, you can get a second or third opinion from another.

People in this town are laid back, non-excitable folks, who like to discuss the weather for hours. If you ask any one there for directions to us, you will be told, ”It’s just down the road. Turn left at the fork and then right where the old Potcheskis’ barn used to be. You can’t miss it”. Take my number, I’ll come find you.

The town’s post office is run by Alvin and Betty -- lovely people. Both are in their70’s. Alvin’s a bit hard of hearing so you need to raise your voice when talking to him. Betty doubles as the bank teller next door. When the door monitor rings, Betty just shuffles through the side door into the bank. Actually she can make it to the teller’s cage before a customer can reach the counter. Yup Betty’s quick.

Another thing that’s odd about this town is the supermarket. It’s called “ Jemski’s Market and Taxidermy.” Honest, it exists! The name alone just emits a whole wealth of fears, doesn’t it? It took several months before I could buy my groceries there.

Finally building up my courage, I went in. The racks and coolers are the same as all food stores. There are clean, well-lit isles filled with all the necessities of life. Just another grocery store, with one exception -- above the counters, racks and coolers abides the wild things. Eyes staring down at you as you pass the pickles and peanut butter. Birds…wings in full flight, over the cooler with butter and eggs, just circling to land in the canned vegetable isle. Deer, fox and moose watching as you choose sausage or ground beef. Fish swim lazily above the frozen chests. Yes, the entire store emotes guilt. Slowly my purchases have increased and like all things, I too evolved. So I head home groceries in tow, just proving again that “it just another day at The Abbey.

The Hay

The Hay

We decided to call all the animals here “The Little Sisters and Brothers of the Abbey.” From the house you can see them grazing in the meadows below. It’s October and time to think about hay for the winter. Being from the city I thought you just go to the store and get hay. No, I am not that dumb. I know that you go to a feed store to get hay, right? Wrong! They don’t have hay. Nor does the local granary sell hay. "You can’t buy hay from a store! You need to talk to a farmer." Great, so you just drive into a totally stranger farmer’s yard, knock on his door and ask for hay? I don’t think so! That’s not the “city way.” There has to be a better idea.

Waiting until the last minute, and really, truly desperate, we found out about a hay auction at the local auction center. So off we went, Jess, Sarah, and I, determined to get hay. We were excited about this, it should be fun. We registered and received our bidding number and strolled out to look at the many piles of hay in the back. Now let me tell you about hay. Hay comes in many varieties. There is hay with alfalfa, hay with timothy, orchard hay, all alfalfa, and ditch hay. Asking, we decided on timothy and orchard, and found several piles of both.

So there we were amongst the hay, and about 20 old farmers all dressed in their bib overalls. Jess in his Polo and Dockers, Sarah in a cream colored frock, and me in an all white Elvis-jeweled jump suit and open-toed heals. We fit right in. We had decided that Jess should do the bidding as he was: A. taller, B. a man and C. we didn’t know how.

The bidding began; soon we approached one of the piles we had decided on. Zoom … the auctioneer exploded in auctioneers' language “one, one, one, one, one-five, one-five, one-five ; two, do I have two, two, two, two; two-five, two-five, two-five, two-five, sold!” And there we stood, looking at each other! What happened? Okay…okay, we are coming to the next pile. “Two, two; two-five, two-five; three, three, three, three sold.” Now all eyes fell on Jess. At this point, I am beginning to feel like a prize fighter’s manager, telling my boy to “relax, get in there and land that winning blow. Here it comes, we are coming up to it, GO!” And so it began we were in there with two-five, two-five, and suddenly it went to “…three, three, sold!” Now I hate to say that my son-in-law is a little cheap, because I love him to death, but he does squeak slightly. So the bidding went on. Ending always just out of our reach, until there was only one pile left. Now we need this hay. We don’t have any hay and suddenly it’s no longer we, it’s me, and it’s personal! This pile has my name on it – it’s mine. I want it. I don’t care what it costs. I have to have this pile of hay! “Jess, this is the one, the only one left, get this one! You don’t have a choice! This is it!

The “SOLD” fell on us like a steam roller over hot pavement. No hay. The bid was lost. Total silence. Total complete silence. Walking back to the car in silence. Uncomfortable silence. Dead-quiet driving. Form the back seat, I think I have to break the tension …the silence; I asked “what would you like for dinner?” Sarah sitting in the front seat blurted out “well, it won’t be hay, because we don’t have any!”

Jess disappeared and an hour later comes back with a wagon of hay. Yup it was the total stranger thing. So here in the country our needs are met, hope yours are too, as it’s just another day at The Abbey. Ruth

The Mail Box.

My second week at The Abbey. The sun came up in its glory, peaking up over the horizon with bright pink streamers fading to blue. I love the mornings. I find I am getting up around sunrise each morning. I don’t know why! I think it is required in farming country. There is something wonderful, though, about the smell of hot coffee in the morning. I like to watch the sun slowly creep across the field bathing everything in light, and see the horses grazing in the meadow. This is country living.
Then it hits me. I don’t have a mail box, I don’t have mail, and I am out of touch with the literary world! When I moved here, I did the usual things everyone does, notify the utilities, send in change of address and tell friends; which I did, what I did not do is buy a mail box.

Now it 6:45 AM and I’m in a panic. Where is my mail going? Is there any mail? Where is the post office? Why doesn’t it open until 9:30? That’s three hours from now, and I don’t have the faintest idea where to get a mail box.

Arriving at the post office slightly before the clerk opens the door, I smile and wave politely at the person behind the counter hoping he would open the door. He looks at me like I am idiot. Basically I am. Finally, he opens the door.
I give him my address and he retreats into the inner chambers of the post office returning with two letters in hand and politely tells me that I don’t have a mail box ... (what a surprise), and that the post office cannot deliver mail if there isn’t a box (another revelation). Had I given any thought to buying a box? He hands me a sheet of paper explaining where to get a mailbox and how to correctly install it.

There is a beautiful shinny black box installed correctly on the right side of the road. All’s well with the world -- for about a week, then I found it on the ground smashed to pieces! “Mail box baseball”, I am told. Back to the hardware store for another box, this one made it six weeks before it, too, died on the side of the road. Thoughts of cement mail boxes filtered through my mind. Sheriff Dan tells me that if the little “Ty Cobs” break an arm, I am responsible. Off I went to purchase another “victim”, this one was sacrificed to the snow plow. The last survivor remains standing by the side of the road. Although not unscathed, it was used for target practice! It still holds mail. It’s become endearing, our holy mail box, fits the theme. So to find us, look for the white sidewall tire and the bullet riddled mailbox, we’re here and it’s just another day at The Abbey.

Ruth

The Chickens

Again, it is very late in the night or very early in the morning, whichever you wish to call it, and I can’t sleep.

A few weeks ago, a very dear friend of mine called me to say she had a surprise for me and could I stop by her house? Wow! I am excited. She said it’s for the farm. My thoughts exploded, going from one thing to another, finally settling on a pair of overalls. You know the type -- bib, the perfect thing for a farm girl. Yup, that’s probably it.

When I arrived, to my surprise I was escorted to her basement. There in a dog cage were two chickens! Yup! Live ones! Brown Chickens? Boy, chickens… huh! Ah… two chickens! Organic… huh! Gosh-wow, chickens! Gee, thanks a lot?

So after I recovered, the chickens and I drove back the The Abbey in my two-day old brand new vehicle!!

At first I thought I would put them in with the alpaca. The paddock is wire fenced and I felt that nothing could harm them. But to my dismay the fencing just did not keep them in. Do you know that chickens can fly? Yup, I was surprised too. As time went by, the chickens found their home in the barn and kind of just wondered around. At any rate we have eggs.

Our first egg arrived the next day -- a nice brown egg. I brought it in from the barn and placed it gently in the egg carton with the other white eggs.

My daughter and son-in-law were staying at The Abbey that evening, so for our breakfast the next day we decided to have eggs. As I brought out the carton and opened it, all eyes settled on the brown egg. There it was … the little brown egg amongst the white ones. We stared at the carton of eggs in total silence. You know, eggs come from the cooler, at the store, and they’re white, only white. Something is just not right about eating a brown egg; especially an egg that came from the barn, our barn, yesterday, from our chickens. We decided to have scrambled eggs.

Slowly, I found that when I went to the barn in the morning I could cluck for the chickens and they would come. Can you imagine a grown woman clucking like a chicken? There I was clucking away and waiting for an answer. Life just seems to settle in doesn't it?

Well, it’s just another day at The Abbey, hope yours is settled too. Ruth

Hi All,

Today we went on our second ride -- it was wonderful, peaceful, and quiet. What a marvelous thing.

As some might know, Hennessey (my horse) was in St. Charles for training with the Amish. She came home Saturday, and my vow is to take her out every morning for a six mile run on the road. She was good yesterday, our first day out, but today she was fantastic.

I really love traveling this way. It brings the world down to a trot, and the good Lord knows we all need that. Literally speaking, time stands still. I can catch my breath and just enjoy the morning.

I think I will look for a sleigh in winter. It is kind of the "Courier and Ives" thing.

Well, it is just another day at The Abbey.

Hope yours is as peaceful ~ Ruth

Life at The Abbey (a blog of a 62 year old city woman’s life on a farm)

My First day on the farm was wonderful, fresh air, gentle breezes, and sunshine; everything I was looking for … wonderful! That evening I watched a magnificent red and blue sunset that simply took my breath away. I climbed into bed radiating the thought that I had finally found the peace and quiet I so longed for. Nirvana in farm life.

“It’s too quiet. Way too quite! How can you sleep in such quiet?” 2:30 AM, I am still awake. I am listing to nothing --absolutely nothing. I need sound…. Just a little noise! How the hell can anyone sleep without noise, I’d settle for the droned sound of tires on pavement.

Frustrated, I unpacked the radio, turning it on to the wonderful sounds of static. I immediately fell asleep.

Ruth

My First Blog

So, I should start out with, I am a city girl (I use this term girl loosely). All my life I lived in the city. I grew up with the hustle, bustle, and sounds of a big city, the quick heart beat of society, and at the age of 62, I wanted out! It was all too much, I was tired of work , fed up with people, and sick of spending my life on the freeway. I quit!

After reading an article about a stock broker who bought a farm, raised goats, made cheese and became well off; I thought, I could do that. I like farms, especially ones away from the city -- a long way from the city. Goats are good, too; they’re cute creatures. Sure, maybe goats? Just as I was toying with the goat idea, I saw an alpaca. It was love at first sight. They should come with a WARNING: “They steal your heart, and are very, very addictive.”

A month later, I and three alpaca and moved to the new farm. I called it “The Abbey” and decided to name all the animals, "The little sisters and brothers of The Abbey”.

Ruth