HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Lucknow Sentinel, 1997-03-19, Page 54Pomo 2A-t:ann Proeress °97
by Marilyn Arseott
late winter storm howls
across the storm
fields, The sun has been
under cover since yesterday.,
.Looking out the kitchen win-
dow, I see, waves: on the pond
frozen in motion. Even though
the barn is„just .a few yards
away, it is .barely visible.
Closing the. curt.airs against the
Sight, T wonder once more what.
haspossessed me to livein the
country.. .
The kettle ..whistles me back
to the present. I make `a pot of
tea, pour, and inhale the cups-
fragrance, .Even, when ::I'm
: alone, the house is never truly.,
quiet. The ticking of the,: mantle
clock punctuates the creaks and
groans of an old house. Trees
brush against the windows, asif
seeking shelter from the wind
that threatens to break their ofd
brittle limbs, •
It's a good day to clean:the
hall closet. As I, rummageand
dig deeper into its recesses, 1
find my mother's old photo
album. Procrastinating, 1 stop to
carefully -turn the brittle pages,
wondering who these stern,
sepia tinted people could bel
sit cross legged on the floor,
pausing to gently replace some
photos -thathave slipped out of
the old fashionedblack corners.
I try to decipher the faded hand-
writing on the backs of some of
thein. Every once in a while, I
stop to put a piece of wood in
the stove or stir up the. coals.
The wind has died down. I
have become so engrossed that 1.
was not aware the stern' 1s over. ”
Rising stiffly, looking at my
watch, .1 hurry to dress in the
multiple layers of clothing that
are the winter uniform of our
country, .I walk with crunching;
difficult footsteps . toward the.
barn, my breath freezes in the
air, the little hairs in my nose
feel stuck together, my eyes
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squint mole4ike at the blinding:
sun brightened landscape.
'Opening the gate,, I ;Nose the
dangling chain once more. This
is a habit rather than necessity.
The animals are .all in the barn
now; nothing to fence in until'
spring liberates them`from; their
dark seclusion..•
How I long for spring, it
seems so far in the future. The
present is frozen pails of water.,
steaming piles of manure and
snow drifted laneways. The citi-
zens of the barn are marking
time; waiting for the succulence
of spring ,fields, warm rich to
bury an inquiring snout in. The
barnyard muck- will cling tomy
boots, and threatens to, pull
them off as. I walk through the
.gate to do chores; I will be free
from the unwelcome encum.
brances of winter.
The frozen, rusty hinges
whine in protest," as I struggle ;to
open the door .with mittened.
• awkwardness. For a 'moment I
stand sun blind in the doorway.
I can.hear them; soon I° see their. ,
breath, billowing like smoke.
The air is heavy . and". warm with
their body heat.; A black and.
white tuxedo cat purrs in antici-
pation of dinner winding itself.
around' my "snowy boot .clad
ankles'.. I: reach down and
scratch a_'ragged•ear andit,arch-
es its back in appreciation;
The pigs root around the base
of their empty feeders, politely
hinting that hurry.
• Mounting the -stairs to the
loft; 1brush; aside'the'unwel
come veil of cobwebs that seem
'to grow overnight; I wonder
why I have never seen these
mysterious cobs at work, busily
weaving: their lace,, out of my
sight;
Reaching the top' of ;the
stairs, I go to the holes cut in the
floor -drops for the heavy bags.
of pellets that I.: must, rip open •
and pour :below into the round
. feeders, The pigs are/making
'anticipatory noises;".they know
food will be, csming in a few
Minutes; and the encourage me
loudly.. They are arguing.
amongst themselves over the.
best spots around the feeders,
Dragging a bag closer to the
feed drrp,,1 find the side that
opens easily..I tear the string
with a bent nail kept handy inn a
nearby knothole. The pellets rat-
tle down the pipes to' the = wait-
ing pigs. pour bags to a feeder,,
twice a day: The pigs don't
mind the monotony of their diet:
In fact all the animals seem to
`enjoy pig 'pellets. 1 wonder if 1
should try them some time, per- ,
haps with a little :milk.and
sugar?.
While I'm upstairs, I feed
and water the .hens. When they
are .eating, I take the opportuni-
ty ;to grope in the old fashioned,
straw filled nest boxes where
they' lay their eggs, There are
only half a dozen hens,. too' old
to be reliable in their produc-
tion, but I don't have theheaq.
tokill them..I will probably
have the only retirement`home
for laying hens in the world .%
Surprising, : there are a couple.
of eggs: I pocket' them "and bid
the hens a pleasant evening. As
I close the door, they ignore me, •
continuing their muted conver-
sations. As the hens dip into the
feed trough, they shake their -
heads
heir heads' in disapproval like elderly
spinster aunts.
I.carefully descend the stairs:
The cats. seem to be intent on
tripping me, killing me with
their unwanted .attention. I try to
nudge them away, but they '.
don't take the hint; so I try not.
to,fall and brain myself 'on the°
stone floor below.
The.. pigs; havefinished
already. Satisfied, they line .up
for,.drinkSS from the water bowls •
like children at -recess. Some `.
come over to the edge of the
pen A few stand on their back
feet, looking at me` almost eye
to' eye. Their ears flop as -`they
root persistently at some small
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