WENDELL WEDNESDAY.
Sometimes when Wendell is truly tuckered out, we actually have to go and check to make sure he isn't dead. He's definitely a deep sleeper.
ALARM CLOCKS.
Especially this time of year, our days begin at daybreak. And ever since I started farming four years ago, I've loved the diversity of alarm clocks daybreak brings. As interns, when we lived in the barn in the hollow, a Wood Thrush would break the silence of night with its unique dueling vocal chords. Perhaps a Wren would join in, the ducks, the roosters and chickens not far behind. Here at the cabin, we have an Indigo Bunting and a few Cardinals who chatter the day into existence, and a Wendell who often barks a farewell to the evening's festivities.Sometimes, our alarm clocks are more tangible––sunrise, for example, if sunrise could be considered tangible. Or, as Hannah so eloquently summed up hot summer nights the other morning, "As soon as it starts to feel cool in the room, you know it's time to get up."I've found myself looking forward to the the changing of the seasons and the ever-shifting array of wake-up calls. And I've found myself greatly looking forward to the mornings, because I never have any idea how the day's going to start.- Jesse.
THIS & THAT.
Some random photos from the past week.
Trellising the beans with some native cane.
Opal's little chick - named Acorn.
Grilled summer squash.
Our homesite is surrounded by daylilies and wild rose.
Getting the cabin ready for the Fourth.
FOR THE LOVE OF DOG.
"I'm a little worried about Wendell," I told Hannah when she woke up, "I'm sure he's fine, but he's not back yet."And that was the first time I ever lied to my wife, because to be honest, I wasn't sure he was fine. I had awoken to the sound of a dog or coyote fight at some late hour, and hadn't heard Wendell since. If he was hurt, he'd probably limped into the woods to hide. If he was dead... well, I didn't want to think about that, even if it was all I could think about.Death is a part of life I've come to terms with and, through farming, even grown to admire. But I was realizing death was not a part of love I was able to process, or even willing to accept. In life, death replenishes. As Baudelaire said, death renders unto nature a hundred times what it takes from it. Death does not do the same for love. Life blossoms from death. Love blossoms from life.For as many times as I've been frustrated with Wendell, annoyed, embarrassed or even hurt by him, I found myself unable, in any fashion, to deal with the idea of his death. I made myself ill thinking about it—thinking about life without my dog, my buddy, my goof. I was not comforted by the fertility his giant body would be lending to the earth, I was haunted by the thought of not seeing him every morning, sleepy-eyed, sleepy bear. I am human and thus blessed and cursed with compassion. Compassion is what made me care for Wendell in the first place, to fall in love with him, but it was also the thing that had me so nervous that morning, pacing around the house with my eyes welling up, a grown man praying his grown puppy was okay."I'm going to go look for him," I finally mumbled, then walked swiftly out of the house and down the driveway, mentally preparing myself for what I might find. But when I got to the road, I looked over and saw a soaking wet Wendell, unharmed, exhausted from his night of work and play, happy and alive as could be, coming home for breakfast.And as he walked by me I could feel my affection for him growing. He'd scared me half to death, and it made me love him twice as much—such is the math of love, I suppose.- Jesse.