I do not even own livestock anymore, just one old barn cat. But Brenda apparently found the smell of damp earth and alfalfa offensive. I ignored every single letter. I threw them in the wood stove.
I figured if I gave her zero oxygen, the fire would eventually burn out. That was my first mistake. Patience, to someone like Brenda, is just an invitation to push harder.
The crown jewel of my property is a massive, 200-year-old oak tree that sits on a little ridge overlooking the valley. It is beautiful. It is the kind of spot where you just want to sit with a cup of black coffee and watch the sun come up.
It is about a quarter mile from my house, but it backs right up to the edge of the Whispering Pines subdivision. It was a Friday morning in late September. The air was crisp, the sky was that deep, endless blue, and I had a long list of chores.
I drove into town to pick up some parts for the baler, grabbed a sandwich, and spent a few hours talking to the guys at the feed store. I got back to the farm around 2:00 in the afternoon.
