I’ll admit it: I was terrified of what the aftermath of the utility trenching was going to look like. Three weeks ago, our southeast pasture looked like the Somme, circa 1918. You saw the pictures, right?
But the earth abides, and the exuberance of spring goes a long way toward smoothing over even recent scars. There are adolescent goats careening around the barn corral, the first of Anna and Brian’s cows are back in the northeast pasture, and everything is budding, growing and blooming like it can’t get enough of anything.
The hay fields, oh the hayfields are gorgeous deep green and reaching for the skies. The old apple trees and cherry trees are white with blossoms. Even the one that, ahem, got run over and knocked flat by the excavator crew seems to have a little life left in it and might pull through.
The fruit trees we planted over the winter are stretching their wee little arms, and even the sleeping army of chestnuts saplings is beginning to stir.
Of course, with the tasty little buds of spring come the deer. They’ve mostly left us alone so far. Mostly, I think, because of the coyotes. There are a hundred or so acres of woods to the north of us, and there seems to be a family of coyotes who has been making nightly treks down our lane. I figure it’s because they’re hoping one of Mark’s goats will make an ill-advised escape, but whatever the reason, the deer have been keeping their distance.
Until recently, that is. Either the coyotes have moved on, or the deer are getting bolder; I came across a young pair during my morning stroll yesterday. Walked right up to them and they looked at me like, “Uh, can we help you?” then went back to grazing.
Anyhow. We still have a 15-foot wide swath of bare dirt across the southeast pasture, but now we also have a gravel road, proper drainage, and underground water and power lines serving all the fields. Barn is getting a new roof even as I write, much to the chagrin of the barn swallows that arrived last week to set up shop in its eaves. Lousy timing, guys. If you could have waited two weeks, you would have been golden. But now, uh, dang. I do hope y’all come back and try again next year.
And we seem to have singlehandedly ended the wettest winter in PT history: it rained and poured throughout the trenching/pipe-laying process. But the moment Ole and Jason’s crew got everything backfilled, and Cam and Jeremy laid new grass seed out to cover the swath? Nada. Not a drop of rain since. You’re welcome, Seattle.
But you all know me well enough to know that when I complain, I’m doing so with full knowledge that I’ve not nothing – absolutely nothing – that I can justifiably complain about. The farm has been treating us spectacularly, as have all the amazing people who are helping us with it; I’m grateful every day I get to walk down that lane and just soak in the glorious wonder of the place. Even if I have to push deer out of my way to do it.