Posts Tagged ‘dust’

Beautiful day!  Skies are clear, very little wind; temperatures are mild, in the mid fifties.

 Uriah was the first to notice the farm equipment pull into the field next door. He freaked! He climbed on the deck and cowered on the north side, farthest way from the equipment. 

The corn in the southern field was finally being  harvested. I stood outside and watched as the large tractor moved slowly into place. I could see the farmer in the cab and a child.

Farmer’s children will help them with the harvesting.  They watch for problems as their parent harvests the crops.The cab they sat in was sealed, heated and air-conditioned.

The winds were blowing away from me, so as the tractor passed by most of the dust spread out to the south.

Just as I thought, “Wow,  I am lucky the wind isn’t blowing in this direction.” The wind changed!  I started coughing, and blinking rapidly as the dust settled in over my head.

I choked out Uriah’s name and we headed towards the path to take a walk. The trees in that area blocked some of the harvesting dust. Well, sort of..

I crossed my fingers that the farmer would only be working on the lower part of the field at this time. I smiled, when I saw him hit the half way point near the drainage tiles and turn around.

 Uriah and I stopped sneezing long enough to watch the harvester.

With all the bare fields, the animals have been congregating in our trees. Last night, every hour, I was yelling out the doors for the coyotes to leave. There must have been close to a dozen howling and yelping very close to the house.

Coyotes don’t understand windows.  So, I had to insure the indoor cats stayed away from the glass. I really didn’t have to worry; they hid under the bed when the howling started.

Uriah, on the other hand, was whining and barking wanting to chase them. A dog barking won’t keep coyotes away from the house. It has the opposite effect. So, between trying to calm down Uriah, petting the cats and yelling at the coyotes, it was a fun night.

Halfway through the walk, Uriah disappeared with hackles raised, into the trees. Stupidly I walked in after him, calling and getting tangled in leafless under brush. After a short time, I headed back to the house. When Uriah reappeared  his tongue was trailing on the ground.  

The farmer took a lunch break and finished the back half of the field; I stood out on the deck and enjoyed the view.

This scene has to be a little boy’s dream.  A large tractor harvesting corn slowly chopping, crunching, and roaring through a field, as an equally large dump truck waits to be filled with the corn; such an impressive, unobstructed view of a real mid-western farm life.  

I love it out here.

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fall sky and trees

A perfect autumn day, when I was a kid this was called “Indian summer.” When the temperatures rise so all I need is a sweater. This is as close to perfect weather as I can hope for.

I walked around the path, watching the ground and hoping to avoided raccoon scat, muskrat holes and sticks. I kicked up the leaves; they were curled and dried crunching with each step.

The mud on the low end of the path was easier to walk over today, not as slippery as yesterday. Green grass was making an attempt grow, not only on the edges of the path but directly in the center. I took advantage of that new growth using it as stepping stones.  

I checked out the prints in the mud, my dogs, raccoons and deer, and small rat feet.  That deer must be heavy, his hooves sunk deep in the mud. My shoes hardly sunk in at all.  The marks I left would be the same if I had walked on pavement with wet shoes.

I set off up and to my right. I noticed that the farm to the south hasn’t been harvested. That farmer has been out at night for the past week. Early Saturday morning around two- thirty, he was in the fields to the north.   

I stopped and listened to the rustling, dried corn stalks.  Tall beige grasses moved around me in the warm breeze. Rustling, crackling, a branch squeaked over head.  

Walking amid the dry grass, I could imagine others who passed through here over the centuries. Did they pause and listen to this sound of autumn?  Were they in a hurry to gather the last of the seeds, fruits and vegetable storing them for a long winter? Or, did they pass through, taking with them dreams of the tall grass and rustling warm breezes.  Maybe they weaved corn husk dolls, and canned fruit.

A faint buzzing and humming sound drifted my way. The farmer was out in his fields. Sounds drifted to me from the south. I hope that he doesn’t cut this field today; I wanted to keep the windows open.   Dust will spread out from his tractor, and spread all over the house, if I don’t close all the windows.

I hesitated and listened. Crows flew noisily overhead. To my right there was movement in-between the trees. A young buck saw me; startled he started to run, and then changed his mind, and sauntered into the thicket. I smiled and nodded.

 The farmer is still too far away. I have time to enjoy my morning walk. I may even have an hour or two to air out the house.

In this moment, I closed my eyes listened to the past drifting through.

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