May 22, 2018
We are trying to strategically plan outdoor work with the
breaks in the weather. The way the
storms sneak up on us in these mountains, that is difficult to do. The weather forecast was calling for more of
the heavy rains we have been experiencing but the morning looked sunny. We ate a quick breakfast and then headed to
the “back forty” to work on the perimeter fencing. This particular area of fencing did not have
enough barbed wire left to simply pull it back and reattach it. We had some high tensile wire for that long
stretch. Using the existing poles and
the trees along the edge of the pasture we did what we could. The terrain is very rough and the undergrowth
makes it difficult to stand up. The old
patched and repaired perimeter fencing is not much to look at in that area on
the North side, but it should keep the cattle in, and truth is no one will ever
see it but us. Putting up the fence was
also difficult because the high tensile wire that we were using had been
sitting around for ages and as we pulled it out of the roll, we found that
there were actually multiple, cut pieces that had twisted together. Untangling the coiled wire reminded me of working
on a tangled “slinky”, the wire toys some of us use to play with as kids. It takes a certain amount of patience to
untangle a wired mess and getting in a hurry only makes things worse. We were down in a “holler” with the hill
rising behind us and could see but a small portion of the sky. Suddenly, the thunder clapped loudly very
close to us. Neither of us wanted to be
under those trees with a thunderstorm brewing but if we let go of the wire at
the point where we were, the possibility of it becoming a tangled mess again
was very likely. We worked quickly
tacking the wire to the posts and trees, pulling it tight as we worked that
section. Immediately when the last
steeple was nailed in place, we grabbed our tools and ran for the loader. A loader is most certainly a piece of
equipment made for one person but Mike and I squeezed inside while the thunder
clapped again and it started to rain. It was raining very lightly, however, and it
sounded like the thunder was further away this time. We debated sitting there and waiting to see
if the storm was going to pass but decided to not take a chance and headed back
to the house instead. That particular
storm did pass us by and we got nothing more than a very light, short lived
rain while we worked closer to the house.
Mike took the opportunity to start a fire on a large pile of brush. I worked to gather up some of the smaller
piles we had made of sticks and branches as we had worked in the yard and
fields. We managed to get a pretty good
fire going in spite of the dampness of the wood and the light rain.
While tending the fire, Mike worked to clean up more of the
area around the barn, moving some lumber from the area where the barn roof
slopes forming an alley for the cattle to enter. The man who rented this land for his beef
cattle for about ten years had used that area for loading cattle and had
actually narrowed it to make a cattle chute.
We took the make shift boards out yesterday, making it wider and hung a
gate across the front. We had talked
about possibly enclosing that area and putting a man door there, but it would
make it so dark and I wanted to be able to park a piece of equipment, such as
an ATV or a small tractor, in that spot if we needed to. The area also works as a “hall” so to speak
that leads to four nice size stables.
While we won’t use those stables all the time, they will provide an area
for cows or calves when we need to separate them out for a few days before or
after they calve or when one needs special care. Since the interior wall was unfinished, nails
stuck through from the outside where we had used the board and batting on the
exterior. We had to take some boards and
put across that area to keep the cattle (and humans) from getting to close to
the exposed nails and getting scratched.
We reused some old, weathered, oak boards for this job. We are all about repurposing.
As we ended our work day, the rains came and settled in. We
were trying to finish a few more things and hurrying when a situation occurred
that struck terror through my heart. I
won’t write of the details, nor divulge the who, what, when or where but
suffice to say the accident could have ended much worse than it did and aside
from my terrified screams which turned to fifteen minutes of sobbing and a
broken section of fence, no lasting harm was done.
Exhausted, I fell asleep on the couch and awoke with my
glasses pressing into the side of my face and my neck in an awkward
position. I took off my glasses, hoping
I had not bent them, and stumbled to bed where I slept soundly all night after
such extreme physical labor and the emotional release after being scared to
death previously that evening.
May 23, 2018
We finished the perimeter fencing yesterday. What a relief to finish it. The North side of the property was a
disaster. I have no idea what kept the
former tenant’s cattle from roaming to the next county other than the fact the
mountainous terrain in that section is almost impossible to navigate. Years and years of forest debris rotting
under our feet made us consciously choose our next step carefully so we didn’t
slip and fall. We cut through a number
of large trees that had fallen on the fence and that had either become a part
of the fence line by default or that previous farmers had incorporated into
their repairs when the fence came down.
A melding of materials over a period of many decades, that section of fence
is an eye sore but will never be seen except by us, the cattle, deer, wild
turkey, an occasional bear and any hunters that are resilient enough to hike up
the other side where the mountainous terrain drops off steeply into deep
ravines. One section declines so steeply
that when a piece of old log was cut and began rolling down the hill, we could
hear it picking up momentum and crashing through the forest for what seemed
like a very long time until we heard a dull thud far off in the distance. The fence work required us practically
standing on our heads at time and at other times sitting with our butts on the
ground using our legs to push the loose barbed wire back into position to
create tension for a tight fence as we nailed it back to a post or a tree. Many trees had completely enveloped the old
barbed wire and fencing material was now permanently a part of the tree. I thought of how majestic those tall old
trees stood with the ugly, rusted, foreign, barbed material running noticeably
through them and yet unable to detract from the real strength and beauty. Mike says I am a tree hugger because I have a
real sense of sadness that the tree’s flesh has been used to support such
ugliness and that the trees carry the evidence of the fence line that runs
through the woods. Keeping the fence up
in these woods will require us to be attentive and tend to frequent
repairs. Each storm will bring down
branches and the deer will continue to jump over the fence and pull it
down. When we made our way to “the end”
and I walked the rest of the way back to the house yesterday, I found a section
that had already been repaired where the deer had recently jumped over it and
brought down the top wire evidenced by the fur caught in the barbs. Ideally, I suppose we would have moved the
fence in farther away from the woods so that we don’t run the risk of trees
falling on the fence line, but that would have required all new fence which
would have required a lot of additional expense as well as time, neither of
which we felt we could spare right now.
Several times while we were working on the fence, we felt
large drops of rain, but the weather held off and passed us by until we were
finished. Later the rain finally came
and settled in again. We were still
outside working and since there was no lightening, we just continued with what
we were doing, trying to finish up some things before going inside where we had
a shower, a late supper and fell into bed exhausted with the sound of the
stream running steady outside our window.
A little cool at night to sleep with the window open, I can’t help but
leave it open anyway. I always sleep
better when I hear the frogs peeping and the water moving.
May 25, 2018
Wednesday morning, we got up and took a load of metal to the
scrap yard. This is our third load since
we started cleaning up the grounds at Laurel Fork and there is still more to
clean. With the house having been built
in 1930 and the outbuildings built, I would guess, sometime between 1930 to
1960, a lot of “stuff” has accumulated over the years. I didn’t know these folks but I do know how
people who went through the Great Depression did not like to throw anything
away. I also know how “old school”
farmers have a tendency to keep everything, even things that seem like trash,
because they might be able to use it somewhere.
(I’m married to an old school farmer.)
The result is mountains of trash and scrap metal that need to be removed
from the property. On the property we
have discovered two “dump sites”. This
is what people use to do back in the day, rather than take their garbage to a
landfill. One site is older and when it
rains and the dirt washes over the bank, we see pieces of old jars and
bottles. Sometimes we even find some
that are not broken. The other site is
“newer” but I would say it probably stopped being used in the 70’s by the looks
of the items that have been dumped there.
This site included a lot of scrap metal.
The “older” dump site with the glass bottles is outside the fence area,
and we don’t need to worry about it too much, plus, it is mostly covered by
dirt that has washed over time. (Makes
one wonder what is under the surface in that area.) The other site is within the fence area and
needed to be cleaned up. While we will
probably be working on it for years, Mike was able to get a lot of it loaded
and taken away.
After the scrap metal run, we got things ready, loaded the
car and drove back to Staunton. Mikey’s
visit is coming to a close and he is returning to Thailand. We wanted to see him before he left so we
decided to move our return trip to Staunton up a few days so that we could go
out to eat with him and Marisa and visit one more time before they leave. It’s hard saying goodbye when we know it will
be a year before we see them again.
Everyone was slow to leave and kept hanging on to the moment. The wonderful news they shared with us is
that they have picked a date and a venue for their wedding next June. We are very happy for them.
Thursday was a busy day.
I never get a fraction of the things completed that I want to accomplish
when I am in Staunton. I awoke before
daylight and as soon as the sun started up, I went outside and checked on the
animals. I gave Spencer good brushing to
help him get rid of the rest of that winter coat he had and did the same for
the little horses. Mikey came by to
pick up some mail and we sat and talked for a while and then I ran errands for
Mike. He had a full day and had asked me
if I would take care of paying the property taxes, the banking, and the antique
malls. In the afternoon, I milked the
cows and when Mike came up, we separated the two bulls from the rest of the
herd, moved the four beef heifers we have at the house (three with calves) to
another field, and combined them with the three Hereford cows in a lot. We separated Princess from the rest of the
Jersey herd and put her in with Promise and Shar, who have calves. The rest of the Jerseys (minus the bulls) we
put in a holding area to get ready for the big move for them to Laurel Fork. The bull has always been a handful. We know it when we bought him but got him
anyway. We had been told how “nice” he
was but his former owner kind of lost us on that one when he pinned her against
the wall before we ever got him off the property. We got him knowing his attitude but we also
knew that we had no need to “handle him” and could give him his space. That has worked pretty well for us. He likes to “scream” and paw the ground. He especially hates Mike. I use to go out into the barnyard to milk at
3 am when I first starting watching our grandchildren and the bull would come
into the holding area with the milk cows.
He would stand at the gate and paw and “scream” at me, making morning
milking most difficult. Finally, one morning,
I had enough. I completely lost my mind
with his constant screaming and threatening behavior. Since I don’t believe in using “hot shots” or
“bull whips” and even try to treat my ornery bulls as humanely as possible, I
simple used my mouth and a stick and started screaming at the bull and waving
my stick. (I had a gate between us
initially but when the bull retreated back a few steps and stopped screaming at
me I opened the gate in anger and walked toward him waving my stick and cursing
at him at the top of my voice. This was
not planned on my part and I was totally fueled by my anger at being
inconvenienced and threatened by the bull morning after morning. He backed up until he got to the opening to
the holding area and there he turned and ran.
Looking back on it, knowing that my foolishness turned out well, I can
laugh about it. He still likes to scream
at me from time to time but I guess the fury of a woman was enough to make him
think twice and typically all I have to do is yell and wave a stick at him to
get him to retreat. He hates Mike and
will paw and scream at just Mike’s presence in the general vicinity of the
barnyard. The bull will not be joining
us in Laurel Fork. I want to be able to
walk the fields without fear of being attacked.
May 27, 2018
For over a year we have been planning, working, restoring,
clearing, repairing with the dream of brining our Jersey girls to Laurel
Fork. Friday morning that became a
reality, at least for part of the herd.
We do not have the smaller lot fenced off around the barn and it is not
safe to bring the momma with young calves until we can keep them closer to the
barn and limit their roaming. Forty
acres of mountain pasture is heaven to a Jersey but comes with it some pretty
serious threats for small, Jersey calves who could be attacked by coyote or in
an extreme case, even a bear. The chance
of the smaller calves getting lost in the tall grass and the forest is also a
possibility, so until we have a smaller area secured, they will have to stay in
Staunton. We also left Princess in
Staunton. I have no guarantee that any
of the cows are bred because I did not have any of them pregnancy checked, but
Princess appears bred and with her milk fever and downed cow issues in the
past, we did not want to chance bringing her to Laurel Fork where we are unsure
about the emergency response time of a vet.
The closest large animal vet I can find is going to be in Galax or Mt.
Airy which is going to be a minimal 45-minute drive and if the vet is not able
to respond right away, the wait could be hours.
I don’t want to take that chance.
Friday morning, we set the alarm for 4 am, loaded the cattle
trailer taking along Faith, Patience, Spring, June, Fancy and Shar’s heifer
from last year that I named but whose name never stuck and I have not figured
out yet what to call her. I usually
resort to “Pretty girl”. I am thankful
to say that the trip was entirely uneventful.
With the start of the Memorial Day weekend, we wanted to beat the
traffic and we were successful. It
seemed that in no time, the three-hour trip was over and we were turning the
girls out to explore their new home. One
thing is certain and that is the fact that one never knows for sure how a
Jersey is going to respond in any given situation. Affectionately dubbed “the drama queen of the
bovine world”, Jerseys are sure to react to new situations in some manner. When the girls stepped off the trailer they
promptly went towards the barn, which gave me a picture-perfect photo
opportunity. So many hours of work and
all the frustration of getting the barn completed for the Jerseys and here they
were stepping off the trailer and walking up the hill to see what we had
done. The photo opportunities ended for
a while after that. Faith took charge of
the herd and established herself as the lead cow or “herd queen” for the Laurel
Fork herd. Each time cattle are moved
into different groups, there is a shuffle as the cows determine who is the
boss. When my entire herd is together,
Princess is boss, as it should be. She
is the Princess and the first-born Jersey heifer on our farm. At ten years of age, she is Herd Queen. Shar runs a close second although I would
call her more of a renegade than a herd leader.
She is head strong and will be the one who will chase a fox, coyote, or
dog she doesn’t know out of the fields.
She has moments of attitude when she shakes her head at the Farmers or
will sling it back in defiance toward us when she wants to do her own thing and
thinks we might expect something different.
(But she will stand in the stanchion and never lift a foot and is an
excellent momma.) When separated from
Princess, Faith is quick to establish dominance as she did with the herd we
brought with us. A family cow owner
knows that each cow has their own unique personality: Princess is royalty, Shar is stubborn, Faith
has attitude but never toward the Farmers, Patience is gentle, Promise is a
touch shy, Spring (Promise’s daughter) is even more shy, Fancy (Faith’s
daughter) is independent without being stubborn, June (Patience daughter who
will not breed) is overly friendly, and the un-named heifer of Shar’s from last
year is confident without having Shar’s attitude.
After viewing the barn, the smaller Laurel Fork herd made to
the section of property where a stream from the springs up the hill flows to the
creek that runs along the front of our property. There is a tall, somewhat narrow strip of
bank on one side of the spring overflow that is wooded and has a band of
mountain laurel. There is a narrow
pathway along the fence line for a short distance and then, following the flow
of the spring water, the land opens up into a small meadow to the south side of
our house. There is a good bit of water
in that section and once the girls got down into the meadow they were
completely unsure of what to do next.
They did not like the moving water, and it came to me that they had
never seen a stream previously. The beef
cattle that we kept at the Family Farm were exposed to a creek on part of the
property and the river on another piece of property. To the Jerseys, however, moving water was a
new experience. They seemed absolutely
terrified, stood looking at each other for a few minutes and then Spring
decided that even though she was not lead cow, she was getting out of there! The rest of the herd followed her although
Patience held back for a moment looking at them like they were all crazy.
Typically, when put in a new area, cattle will walk the
perimeter fencing to see where their boundaries are. The girls were a little confused by how
expansive the area was in which they had been placed. Their total pasture land in Staunton was a
series of lots that made up about 15 acres.
In Laurel Fork, they now have 40 plus acres of fenced pasture land to
roam. The Jerseys did not even begin to
find the perimeter fencing on their first day out.
May 28, 2018
Spring rains continue pretty much on a daily basis. We have learned to go ahead and do what we
want to do as much as we can between rain showers. If the rain is light and lightening is not an
issue, then often we just work outside in the rain to finish up projects we
have started. It was supposed to rain
and was not a good day to have a yard sale and neither is our location exactly
ideal, but yard sales are pretty popular here in Southwest Virginia and unlike
in the Valley where people don’t seem to want to go out of their way for a
sale, people here are used to having to get off the beaten path to pursue what
they want. Memorial weekend and Labor
Day weekend are huge events in the little town of Hillsville, where thousands
of visitors descend for the Hillsville Flea Market. During that event, many individuals in the
area will take the opportunity to set up yard sales as well. I figure while so many people are out with
the mindset to buy, it is a good time to sell.
I had done no prior preparation, having been just far too busy, but had
everything collected in one spot and some of the vintage items were priced to
take to the antique malls. I slapped
stickers on everything and we threw it all on the back of a goose neck farm
trailer and pulled it down close to the road.
After a couple of hours, it began to rain, and we moved everything up to
the front porch to get it out of the weather.
It was by no means a hugely successful day for sales for us but we moved
a few things and made a little money. I
left everything on the porch with the idea that if the weather is permitting, I
might put the signs up and sale again Memorial Day. Afterwards, I will make a box of things to
donate, a box of things to trash, and take the remaining vintage items to the
antique malls. Having yard sales is a
good way to meet neighbors, some whose families have lived here for
generations, some who are transplants like us, and some who have beautiful
weekend homes here in the mountains.
Between customers, I worked on cleaning up the picnic shelter to get it
ready for a family event next weekend.
The shelter has not been used since last summer and was needing a good
sweeping as well as the tables needing to be washed down. The dust and pollen were so thick on the
tables that I had to scrub them twice and will do so once again before I put
fresh table cloths on them right before the picnic. I also shoveled out all the ashes and debris
in the fire pit and cleaned up around the chimney where the former owners had
thrown pieces from an old cast iron stove, had left an old trash can that had
split and still contained rotten leaves, trash and so forth that had filled
with rain water and made a stinky, soggy, mess.
We slowly keep cleaning up messes from long before we acquired the
property. We have our own “messes” and
acquired clutter back in Staunton that we are working on as well. It seems overwhelming at times and I wonder
if we will ever get to a point where we feel like we are done.
Saturday evening after supper, I walked “the back forty” to
check on the Jerseys who had found the West/Northwest perimeter fence and the
thick, luscious grass in that area. This
is where I have my best views of Buffalo Mountain and can see for miles from
that vantage point. The girls were up to
the eyes in grass and enjoying every minute.
Satisfied that all was well, I took some pictures and headed back to the
house. I was soaked from waist down from
the wet grass but exhilarated by the views and the time spent with the
Jerseys.
Sunday morning , we drove the 1966 Ford to church and then
after lunch we took it to the Blue Ridge Music Center. Every day from the end of May until well into
fall, the music center has a daily “jam” session where local musicians come and
play Appalachian, Old Country and Blue Grass music. We
enjoyed visiting last year on several occasions and the older I get, the more I
find myself drawn to the music as well as the history of the music of the
mountains. For my birthday, I only
wanted to sit and listen to music and then later in the week to have my family
gathered here for a get together. (My
birthday always falls on Memorial Weekend but I didn’t want anyone travelling
the interstate on a Holiday weekend so we scheduled the get together for this
coming weekend instead.) I clapped along
to the rhythm of the music, the only one in the audience to do so, and my ear
often picked out the Celtic influence in the songs. The authenticity of the music and the
musicians is what draws me back to this place.
These are not simply performers, but rather a group of people with the
heart of Appalachia in their soul who use their hands to play and their voices
to sing the songs of the mountains. This
is the music upon which I was raised and any family get together, even today,
includes a front porch “jam” session, lots of laughter, and sometimes a few
tears wiped away by the memories a particular song might bring to mind. There is no music more soulful than the high,
lonesome sounds of mountain music sung and played well, unless it is the gut
wrenching sound of African American music, originating from the pain of a
people struggling under oppression. Perhaps, from the place of origin deep
inside the soul of the songs composers, the music of these two groups of people
hold similarity in the expression of deep sorrow, abiding hope, and a good
sense of humor in the midst of life’s struggles. Within this group of musicians at the Blue
Ridge Music Center sat a gentleman obviously older than the rest. There was a peace about him that sometimes
comes to some with age and as simple acceptance of the way things are. It was easy to see that the music was a
comfort and joy to him and there was just something about the way he played
that caused me to be drawn to him. In
fact, remembering him and his wife from last year, I moved from one chair to
another so that I could watch his hands and his face as he played. Between songs, the musicians joked in
conversational tone with each other and shared little stories, sometimes in
voices so relaxed and quiet that it was hard for those of us sitting around to
hear. Someone asked the older gentleman
to share “his story” about how his family was displaced by the building of the
Blue Ridge Parkway and the subsequent establishment of the National Park. My ears perked up and I strained to hear him
tell how his family when he was a young boy back in the late 1930’s was given
just a short number of days to leave their home because the government had
confiscated the home and part of the property so they could build the
parkway. Piece by piece in just a matter
of days, the family dismantled their home, taking everything but the rock
fireplace and moved it so that they could later reconstruct it on the part of
their property that was not being taken away from them. For their home and a big part of their
property that was confiscated, they later received a check for $600 in the
mail. This man’s brother, who was only
12 at the time, drew detailed sketches of the equipment used to build the
parkway and that sketch was later used by the National park Service as a plaque
for visitors who travel the parkway. The
man told his story softly, gently, and even with a few smiles and with the
quiet resignation of someone who understands first hand a loss that most of us
can’t even begin to imagine. I thought
about that man and the sacrifice of his family as well as so many others who
had the taking of their homes and property forced upon them so that the general
public could drive through what was their life and livelihood enjoying the
beauty with little knowledge or thought of those who gave all and whose lives
were changed forever. No one loves the
Blue Ridge Mountains and all of Appalachia more than I do. My family still lives in the mountains of
Northwest Georgia and my roots run deep in mountain soil. The gentle smile and resignation of a man old
enough to remember and to tell the story first hand to travelers of the very
road that ripped his home place in two so many years ago was enough to make me
want to cry for his loss and hug him for how he came full circle to share the
history of the area through his music and memories.
One can argue that the establishment of National Parks is
for the greater good but the argument pro or con was not my focus
yesterday. The lesson driven home to me
by these poignant moments is that all of our privileges have come with
sacrifice, and when we as humans fail to recognize that, our self-indulgence
fosters more greed, which in turn, creates a world where we continue to take
from others.