the forget-me-not adventure
When I went to milk the cows this afternoon there was nary a cow in sight. Leaving the dairy barn yard, I crossed the Farm's "main drag," intersecting streets to get into the pen which leads out to the fields near the beehives. This is the best time for milk--the cows out to pasture, eating lots of yummy grass and in turn, nourshing us. Great article about this here. Once inside the pen still no sight of the ladies. I called, "HEY BOSS!" cupping my hands to try and and boom my voice through the woods. I clapped. I whistled. Nothing. I walked deeper into the woods.
Trudging out further away from the street I followed the fresh cow prints, evidence of the cows' daily path, and found myself slightly out of view of the road. I was for once looking out--the perspective then mine was that of the cows all summer. I saw cars passing by, though I wasn't quite as visible to them; felt the way that the trees running parallel with the road provide a wall; looked up at the tall pines around; found a huge patch of forget-me-nots.
There is something striking about forget-me-nots. I can't put my finger on it--why I love them so. Maybe it's their color. That bluey purpley mix--a mistake on a color scheme. Maybe it's the way that they are always in places I least expect to find vegetation; in this case the flowers were growing all along the shin deep puddles of mud, manure and rain runoff, which I was trudging through. Maybe it is their huge presence. How something so small and seemingly fragile is a constant. Maybe I'm not supposed to understand the magic of forget-me-nots.
Reveling in the flowers I looked further out into the field and saw Beasley in the lead, head raised, staring at me. She paused in her assesment of the situation; me there in my muck boots sloshing toward them on the uneven path. It only took another whistle, and then just as I came, I was carefully picking my way back through the shin deep poo water puddles with cows trodding behind me. In that moment I was so grateful. Thankful for the rain which had poured down on me when I'd started off after the cows. The rain was feeding our gardens and cooling things off. Thankful that the cows hadn't come to meet me, but instead unknowingly invited to find a little, secret slice of lovely.
Trudging out further away from the street I followed the fresh cow prints, evidence of the cows' daily path, and found myself slightly out of view of the road. I was for once looking out--the perspective then mine was that of the cows all summer. I saw cars passing by, though I wasn't quite as visible to them; felt the way that the trees running parallel with the road provide a wall; looked up at the tall pines around; found a huge patch of forget-me-nots.
There is something striking about forget-me-nots. I can't put my finger on it--why I love them so. Maybe it's their color. That bluey purpley mix--a mistake on a color scheme. Maybe it's the way that they are always in places I least expect to find vegetation; in this case the flowers were growing all along the shin deep puddles of mud, manure and rain runoff, which I was trudging through. Maybe it is their huge presence. How something so small and seemingly fragile is a constant. Maybe I'm not supposed to understand the magic of forget-me-nots.
Reveling in the flowers I looked further out into the field and saw Beasley in the lead, head raised, staring at me. She paused in her assesment of the situation; me there in my muck boots sloshing toward them on the uneven path. It only took another whistle, and then just as I came, I was carefully picking my way back through the shin deep poo water puddles with cows trodding behind me. In that moment I was so grateful. Thankful for the rain which had poured down on me when I'd started off after the cows. The rain was feeding our gardens and cooling things off. Thankful that the cows hadn't come to meet me, but instead unknowingly invited to find a little, secret slice of lovely.
Comments