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