I awoke this morning to the sound of thunder. The time was 5:00am, not usually the time of morning that I crawl out of bed, quietly make my way to the kitchen, put on a kettle of water so I can sit back and enjoy a hot cup of Goldenrod tea, which was harvested last summer, here at the base of Green Mountain. However, I was not disappointed to be awakened earlier than usual; quite the contrary. The deluge of rain pounding the metal roof with a dull roar was so dense, the ridge of trees running along the southeast corner of the property was barely discernible until it was lit up with flashes of lightning; the air, punctuated by a barrage of thunder so loud, with a little imagination, one could almost expect a troop of soldiers to burst out of the forest and charge across no man's land during a bloody WWI battle. The bed was comfortable, snug and warm and the only noise louder than the roaring thunder and pounding rain was my wife Sarah as she snored her way through dreamland, completely unaware of the din outside our bedroom window.
Today is market day; the day Sarah and I take her wondrous, aromatic, freshly baked goods to the Woodstock Farmer's Market, where over the past few months, she has gleaned many continual appreciative and satisfied customers. Our way of life has changed drastically from what we were used to being - city folk with city jobs - so busy, an ant looked like it was taking constant coffee breaks. Although we don't have job-jobs, that's not to say that we are kicking back with our feet up, sucking back cold beers or sipping hot coffee; our daily chores have changed significantly. However, since old habits are difficult to break and a source of income is still needed, we haven't completely let go of earning money by the talents we accrued while living in a city; I still create signs, design logos, posters, etc. and Sarah still creates websites for businesses. And of course, like many city folk and country folk alike, we are like babies connected by an umbilical cord to their mothers, except in our case, it's the Internet; keeping in touch with friends, loved ones and relatives via FaceBook, MSN and Skype; a difficult addiction to break.
I like to think that I'm an adaptable sort of person; I try to fit into, meld with my background, not so much like a chameleon where I simply change the colour of my skin - no, not like that at all - I prefer to become an actual part of the circumstances surrounding me; enjoying the simple aspects and not getting caught up in the snares of complexity; that's not to say that I'm so compliant with my surroundings, to the state that I won't try changing things - it's just that whatever needs changing is in sympathy and in tune with the larger picture. If I attempt to live on Golden Unicorn Farm with the ideology of a city person, I will become dissatisfied and my time here will be a failure. Since I no longer live where cement, glass, plastic and metal are predominate but amongst the trees, streams, earth and rocks, I'm attempting to be more in sync with nature and not with man made materials; in short, I'm trying my best to adapt to this way of life.
Progress, the speedy advancement of our modern civilization has left the majority of the population behind in its enormous wake and even the ones that have been partially to blame for this rampaging surge don't have the capabilities of controlling its immense power; perhaps that's why everything has gotten so much of control. I once rode that gigantic wave of progress, making the tsunami that hit Japan look like a mere ripple and was quite successful as I balanced on its towering edge gaining properties and amassing bags of money. However, I found out that as soon as I quit participating, became out of sync, I lost my balance and all of my accomplishments disappeared like mist into the air.
Living at Golden Unicorn Farm, I find the needs that are necessary in life are the same, whether a city dweller or a country dweller; they're just more physical to acquire; the pace much slower; the results more attainable and for me more fulfilling.
The old barn up on top of Green Mountain that my brother Larry and I partially dismantled had a few choice old time relics inside, which, although not of much use, seemed too good to just throw away. Besides two leather bridles that are in need of a good cleaning and a little repair, we found four padded leather horse collars in the same condition. These are placed around the workhorses' necks when they are pulling very heavy loads. When I think of it; it's kind of strange that a powerful 360Hp engine can't pull a truck out of a ditch if it gets really stuck, yet one big workhorse will probably do the job. The way things are going in the world, the price of fuel and the pollution, the human race might be better off going back to the horse and buggy. But I guess the days of horses pulling wagons, rather than trucks and other powerful mechanized vehicles, are long gone for good but in my lifetime, I did have the occasion to ride in a sleigh pulled by a horse and a buckboard too; I even remember a Chinese man selling vegetables from a cart pulled by a horse and had the good fortune of running behind a wagon carrying blocks of ice on a hot summer day and scooping freezing chunks into my mouth. However, horses can be dangerous too. When I was just a little boy at my grandfolks homestead in Woodpecker, BC my uncle Buck put me on top of one of the horses that was pulling a wagon full of hay. I guess I must have spooked the horse because they suddenly took off up the dirt road leading to the barn. It's probably a small miracle that I didn't get my head kicked off or was crushed by the wagon. Hmm...maybe horses aren't such a good idea - we're getting a couple of goats and a big white Great Pyrenees dog soon - maybe I can teach them to pull a small wagon full of firewood.
Besides the horse harness, Larry and I discovered an old buckboard seat attached to a set of metal springs - make the riding a little easier on the bum. Under the seat was a large wooden pull-out drawer that contained an intricate looking metal jack, which could be used if one of the wheels needed repairing, a large rasp for filing a chunk of wood or the horses' hooves, a hone for sharpening a knife, an axe or a scythe, plus an old wrench and other miscellaneous tools that may have been needed. Apparently, before the owner bulldozed the barn down, it had contained a complete wagon - now that would have been a real treasure - which reminds me of the optimistic little boy who got a big sack of manure for his birthday. While he was scooping the manure out of the sack with his hands he said, "I just know that somewhere inside this sack is a real live pony!" I may not have the enthusiasm or be as optimistic as that little boy but despite my age and achy bones, I don't feel that moving to 50 acres of pasture and forested wilderness that I've taken on anything I can't handle. I'm looking forward to the future and any achievements I might successfully accomplish - after all, it's not all just about money - self worth has a whole lot more meaning.
No comments:
Post a Comment