My Wardrobe Malfunction

After living and doing chores on the farm for 17+ years, I've learned to tolerate the weather.

With the right clothing, I can get through the routine of hauling water and hay and more hay to the sheep and horses, grain to the chickens and wood to the stove.

But this morning, in the midst of the Great Thaw, I had a wardrobe malfunction.

When I stepped into a four-inch puddle, cold water seeped into my boot, chilling my foot.

After six years of keeping my feet warm and dry, my Muck Boots failed me.

And, though it was a balmy 35 degrees and the wind was not blowing, the morning chores became a chore as I walked around the puddles in the yard, in the pastures, in the driveway.

And, I changed my agenda for the day.

I HAD to go shopping.

The Last Day of Indian Summer

During my lunchtime walk, I saw more squirrels than cars.

The bushy-tailed critters scampered from yard to yard, tree to tree, a flurry of motion.

Did they know it was the last 70 degree day of the year? The last Monday before the end of Daylight Savings Time?

The farmers knew. Soothing hums of diesel and the rhythmic chunk-a-chunk-a-chunk came from the fields around our farm.

In several fields combines munched through soybeans, and in our front field, two farmers baled hay -- green, loose bales that'll smell like summer all winter long.

The husband hurried to the woods to cut wood for winters to come.

I, tired of cleaning out the garden, turned to cleaning out horse stalls and paddock, clearing manure so that doors will open easily when the ground freezes and heaves.

 When sunlight faded, my husband and I came indoors.

But the combines didn't take our cue. Their headlights came on and they rumbled through the fields into the night, gobbling up beans before the rains came.