AWAY FROM THE CITY essay

A three-week visit with our daughter, husband and two grandchildren on their mini ranch in Alberta was an experience, which will last for a long time.

Little did I know animal scents would try to drive me to distractions. Not being born on a farm meant my nostrils were quite sensitive. And my feet were careful never to step in any kind of cow pie. Nor lift a 5-tine fork, shunting aside growing piles of manure.

This holiday trip with my wife, Esther, was an education for myself, a town boy, from the mining community of Rouyn-Noranda, Quebec. I soon learned to work among piles of poop like any sweating, ole boy farm hand.

Dad always said how hard it was working on his dad’s farm. In 1941 he escaped those chores by enlisting in the Second World War. I always thought that was a bit drastic. At first, it seemed easy to hide from chores after my wife and I arrived in early September.

It snowed large flakes, and singing Christmas carols was not appreciated. But, I soon learned work must be completed, regardless of weather.

Ernie, the horse required monitoring in his distant pasture. Also the neat Llamas, especially Buckwheat’s fatherly eye keeping watch over four males. Then we helped supervise four donkeys, 12 Dexter mini-cows, 20 sheep, two dogs; Storm, a proud Pyrenees’ dog, Misty a farm dog and Mother the cat.

Why not look after them? I wondered. There seemed to be ample strands of grass, hay or grain lingering about. Surely animals could wander around and eat, but, not so.

Morning came early, each day of the twenty-one we spent there. Eeyore’s 5 am braying made sure humans jumped out of bed. Have you ever tried to capture sleep after hollering across the sky, from a donkey’s healthy set of lungs? He could easily be heard a quarter of a mile away.

Each night’s coyote chorus was like the tinkling of pleasant chimes compared a donkey’s raucous voice. First the sheep received their snack of grain. Something had to be done to quell their combined “Baaing” which assaulted our ears with full exclamation points.

“Okay, you can stop now, treats are coming.” After which, their pen was opened and they flooded out for a days worth of grass munching. A few older and wiser sheep slyly returned to mouth up any last bits before responding to calls from their young ones. Or should I say their persistent BAA-BAA calls were more like whining for their mother. Animals and children are so much alike in their actions.

Hay was quickly brought to the other animals that soon became life-long friends. Thankfully, Kenny the Dexter bull was on our side. He was a miniature beef cattle and wanted everyone to know he was tough as any old bull.

One night he went head to head with an Angus, twice his side. And they tore up thirty feet of fencing before tiredness and masculine territorial tugs were satisfied. But Kenny kept up his bellowing all night long. And his noisemaking soon had area bulls answering.

It is remarkable how easy it is talking to each of these four-legged creatures. The horse, dogs, cat and donkeys stand in rapture as they receive a scratching on the side of their faces. But please do not ignore Eeyore. It’s not pleasant to watch a gloomy looking donkey trot off to sulk in the corner of his pen. It can be very discouraging for all parties. And you don’t dare laugh, for fearing to insult him.

Now that Buckwheat is something else. I never believed a Llama could be so perceptive looking, even if he did resemble the Grinch, with his pinched up face, discerning eyes and folded back ears. Whenever one of the other males charged him in a daring challenge, he would chest-butt back. Then run and jump upon his two-foot high mound of earth, proclaiming through snorting, he was still King.

And somehow, after this maneuver, his authority was never questioned. The offender simply bent his head in supplication, joining the three others who resumed chewing on twigs and leaves to supplement their delicious grass meal.

Fences needed mending, pens cleaned out, shrubbery and branches cleared, garage tidied and a dozen other chores came as muddy overflows from sloughs on the pastureland. There was always something to do. Yet, we found time for a little partridge hunting in the backfield, and some duck hunting a few miles away at Cooking Lake. And of course some fun times with our precious grandchildren.

At night stars were bright burning embers of white, as we breathed our awe of appreciation. Giving thanks for a good days work done was not really necessary since our personal satisfaction for jobs well done, meant something very special. It was nice knowing, like children, each animal trusted and depended on us.

And the land also required us to be a caretaker for its needs. We heartily responded, singly and as a family, pulling together to ensure all chores were completed. For without sharing the workload, such a farm could not exist. And we are greater in knowledge for the doing. Such are steps to fulfillment.

I learned much working my little bit on the farm. And have since thought how nice it would be spending time on our own ranch, to have several sensitive donkeys, and two proud llamas. Memories, never go away.

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(c) Richard L. Provencher 2005

Richard & Esther Provencher invite you to read their first of three novels ‘FOOTPRINTS” now available from www.synergebooks.com. “Someone’s
Son” and “Into The Fire” will also be available soon by the same company. These books were written during the first several years while Richard was recovering from his stroke, which felled him in 1999. He is still recovering.

The link to “FOOTPRINTS” is as follows: http://www.synergebooks.com/ebook_footprints.html