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.