Humble Rants 18 September 2013

Posted Tuesday, September 17, 2013 in Opinion

Humble Rants 18 September 2013

by Robert Skoglund aka The humble Farmer

Lies. Nothing but lies.

The weather forecast is written by aged men who sleep in cobwebby caves and get their information by consulting chicken bones.

Yesterday we were told it would be 80 degrees and sunny. Good luck with that in Maine in September, chummy.

Today, when any fool can look out the window and see the weather for himself, they tell us that it is going to be foggy for the foreseeable future.

When I put four bunches of fresh rhubarb on the chrome-plated farm stand at 6 A. M. it did not escape my attention that had I not left a trail of bread crumbs I would not have been able to find my way back to the house. 

Last week a friend said he was going to stop in this afternoon because he would be in the area --- investigating some paranormal activity. I know what he's talking about. If I were ever to be able to complete a television program and email it to PegMedia which I have been swearing I would do every day for over a month, that, in itself, would be enough to stand the hair up on the back of any station manager's head.

The good news is that we have new friends staying in our Bed and Breakfast this Friday and Saturday. That will generate enough unexpected income to get us from here to the North Carolina state line in November. 

Timmy Polky says that tomorrow his six cow friends will be moved from the big pasture behind the house to the smaller seven acre pasture across the road. They've chomped it down so it looks like a golf course. No weeds sprouting up anywhere except where I haven't weed whacked by the stone walls. They are pretty cow friends. Brown with white faces. Very clean. And they are big. They are like huge friendly puppy dogs. I'm very cautious when I'm in the pasture because I might get trampled or brushed aside when they rush up to eat apples out of my hand. 

Yesterday I opened up the asparagus patch for their perusal. Moved the wire right up to the rhubarb. They gobbled every bit of new pasture so it is well past time to move them. One of the calves made an unauthorized bid for freedom by the newly emancipated area. The only freedom permitted on this farm is the right to graze quietly in the assigned areas. (Nice cows do not moo.) He was wandering about in the rhubarb patch. I got as close to him as I could and then clapped my hands and ran at him shouting, hoping that he'd go through the fence in a panic. He turned and ran down into the cul de sac. I thought he'd go through the wire but he sailed over the top of it just as pretty as a deer. Not good. They shouldn't learn to do that. It's like permitting a young bride to discover the delights in a new department store.


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