Our farmers today enjoyed a pleasant interlude in the morning’s choring. We doubt if they could have been invited to a more interesting event than that which took them to lend assistance to a neighbor in getting his fat cattle away to their market.

“I like to move among the simple down-to-earth, farm-folk” we chanced to hear a speaker on radio observe the other day. The words returned to mind today when we saw the pair of farmers hie down along our winter-lane of field, enter the waiting truck and on happiest wheels disappear beyond the little rise which mostly with an accelerated “huff and puff” bears all traffic in the road.

Yes ‘simple’ we chuckled to ourself, in that we who love the land, enjoy the seemingly lowly and humdrum dnties [sic]— and scenes of the farm. The term however, was sadly misused, in connection with the work then in prospect. What an alert and altogether skillful crew were for-gathering to the endeavor at that farm in the road! And in reckoning the tonnage about to be disposed of there, there would be very few pounds ‘out’ on the aggregate one way or another.

Have you ever stopped in the middle of preparing dinner to watch the shipping out of fat animals from a farm? No? We steeped in farm ways came to the back verandah to catch something of the colour and excitement of the scene, though it lay a distance from Alderlea, over the fields.

Above the millstream, above the A’s vacated house set down quiet in the valley, and up the rise beyond we caught sight presently of the dark figures of men and cattle moving in a company along the white field which was taking the animals to the great truck waiting at the road. So easily, after all, a herd can be moved these times. And as we saw these, we were recalling scenes from years long gone, when the fat cattle raised on a remembered farm by the Strait, must either go to market by boat on a summery morning from the harbour, or else be herded a distance on foot — even the twenty one miles which would take them to town.

“Nice cattle”, James commented when the two returned. The younger man nodded. “Now” he smiled “we’ll just see how the weights correspond with the girts!’ he said.

“The old law of supply and demand” James comments to Mr. C. from the house on the hill as they come in after a late tour of the stables, “makes the market! Looks to me as if there’s a move up in price. Yours doing well?”

“Not bad Mr. C. replies “They should at any rate— there’s not much last to a grist of crushing!”

“It is amazing how fast it goes” James nods, settled now to their visit. “And I was just saying to the wife today, if we keep them, there will be all of three months yet of feeding.”

“There’s this to it” Mr. C. offers “we never had so nice a winter to do the chores.’

“Never!’ James agrees. Then “You couldn’t rustle us a bite to eat, could you Ellen? I feel kind of hollow’ he chuckles.

Until tomorrow — Diary — Goodnight…

– Ellen’s diary, February 26th, 1958

Source: islandnewspapers.ca

Now that Winter’s frost allows us a spell of firm footing on frozen earth, the evenings sometimes call us abroad — to walk along the fields or follow old paths of farm-lanes when the world is lit by star-shine and moonlight silvers our steps. Then indeed the farmlands are beautiful, the groves and woodlands darkly handsome as they settle against the night-sky, the resting fields so still one could believe all was wholly deserted terrain.

So it seemed this evening, when with James and the children from the house across the lane, we, taking our time in the delight of the hour walked along the intervening fields to Rob’s. How still the night was, without even the sigh of a wandering wind to disturb its serenity, how altogether hushed and lovely.

“There’s not even an owl abroad” we chuckled, following the others through the shadows of a woodsy place.

“If it were daylight” Mack commented “its surprising the things we would see — ravens and squirrels. And maybe a partridge or rabbit.” He laughed at a memory. “Rabbits always startle me.”

The sky toward its eastern boundary reflected the bright lights of the city. And here and there in mirroring brightness above them, these of the farmsteads about. On this and more distant roads, in momentary Willo-wisps of brightness, machines moved, as were we, along the fairy aisles of the night.

“This” James offered, as by way of a gap in a hedgerow we entered another field “is part of our seeds.”

“Seeds?” Mack echoed. “Oh, yes, I know… first hay. The seed was sowed last spring along with the grain.’

“And I’m thinking the flock of sheep’s nibbling over it, isn’t doing it much good!” James said. It would be as well too if we’d get snow, to cover it — a better crop we’d get instead of the freezing and thawing weather we have been getting of late.”

“We never know” Mack commented. “We just may get our best hay here.”

“It depends on the year” we agreed. “If it’s a year for clover there’ll be an abundance of it everywhere.”

“I wish” Granddaughter observed with a chuckle “we could catch the clover scent right now!”

“Girls are forever wishing, aren’t they?” Mack offered teasingly.

“I wouldn’t mind it either” James said, tones a bit wistful, “at least I could do with the Spring.”

But fragrance [sic] of Fall went with us scent of resting fields, of sere stubble [sic] and bracken. And intermingling… it came to mind, instead of the salt of shore fields the aromatic tang of the spruces. 

The farming? How busy the farmers’ days continue to be! How full of hope to farm-folk, we reflect, as we look into the new year, now reaching before us away. This will be the best winter… the best Spring… the best year of all!

                                                                                    – Ellen’s Diary, January 6th, 1958.

Source: islandnewspaper.ca