Month: October 2021

Something’s changed out there.

The land feels taken over by a watching presence that is slowly claiming it.

Gone is the harsh cheer of summer and the promise of plenty.

Fruit trees and hay grass crops produced at a fraction of their usual yield – maybe because of the smoke from last year’s fires and the drought.

It’s likely the normal abundance of fall game is also diminished as a result.

Last night’s skunk seemed unnaturally ravenous, when for the last two years we’ve smelled it, but it never needed to dig.

I told my youngest we would not go outside tonight, after having left the truck running with lights on while bringing in groceries

The sheep and roosters will have to wait for food until the morning, and I hope the boys will be alright.

They say large predators won’t attack if you have lights on and are with your dogs, but this sense feels menacing.

It doesn’t care what we are. It just knows that it’s hungry.

I realized once we returned to the relative safety of the shelter that we had to go back out and remove the blood-soaked body.

Another problem was, we didn’t have the coop keys because our pet sitter had accidentkally taken them home with her.

So, with gloves, garbage bags, a wrench, bolt cutters, and hammers, we set about attempting to pop open the lock.

I finally secured the lock in one hammer’s hook and beat on it with the other until the lock’s outer casing popped off, and I could wail on where the latch nestled.

It soon yielded and I could slip the chain off that had merely smirked at our earlier efforts to snip it.

Meanwhile, things were going bump in the dark that normally didn’t, and we could smell the skunk returning. Then, we heard the shrill cry of a not-so-far off cougar.

I wasn’t happy that we were out there so late at night – basically luring any predator by the smell of fresh blood – and hastily cleaned up the mess.

To cover any remaining scent,I smeared stagnating wet hay over the blood spatters on the cage bars and cleaned up the bulk of what had poured onto the ground.

The neighbors across the road had an outside fire going and were probably wondering at our commotion and occasional vexed cussing as we troubleshot the entire situation and tramped all over the property, looking for tools and implements.

Then, I had to climb on top of the already packed large garbage can’s contents to tamp it down further and make an indent for the bagged remains so the lid would close properly.

The varied materials within it shifted dangerously and I yelled out something like, “Stop – No, not this time!” as I felt anarchy’s chaos taking note of my vulnerable position.

I swear, sometimes it’s only beligerant attitude that makes the forces of destruction grant latitude!

We came home to the predator having gotten into the rooster pen again.

It was a skunk, chewing on the neck of one of the white silkies that has no self preservation instincts

My youngest cried out to me in alarm and I tramped up the hill with a metal garbage can lid, which I bashed aggressively against the coop to cause the critter to retreat..

Blood drenched the end edge of the inside cage which was supposed to have been a second layer – but the four boys in it always slept clustered against the edge.

We’d had to tarp that area because they wouldn’t move out of the rain, and I had commented days ago to my youngest they had Darwinianism stamped all over them.

I hate being proven correct in such a matter, and I’m upset that we’ve lost two more roosters to the opportunist.

Because I saw you, back then, before anybody knew you.

I saw your potential, and I saw you poised to grow true.

I didn’t know what to expect from you, but I recognized.

My soul was jangled into awareness and instinct marked.

Then, I ignored you – for I hate and did not want obsession.

I did not want to fixate upon outcomes, nor rail vexations.

Until the day you arrived in front of me – and I remembered.

The way I felt for you back then remained, heat tempered.

I’ve reviewed your life’s accomplishments and see you rising.

You’ve become like me, after all – without compromising.

A thought – fleeting – taking me to another land.

An island, to be precise, where a man grew from childhood to one day take command.

I am there, for a few moments, wandering the perimeter until I find a bench overlooking the ocean.

Then I sit, leaning forward with my elbows propped on thighs and chin resting in my hands.

Is it sunny or overcast? Wind or no? Light drizzle or balmy?

I can smell and taste the salt, heavy on the air from waves crashing below as spray particles reach me.

What greatness has been born on this isle, to travel over the channel and cause nations to rise or fall?

What genius has ignited from the once tender heart of a complex soul?

My parents never felt the desperation of poverty, nor the vexation of being trapped in a town where one’s skills were barely applicable and rarely appreciated.

They never felt the hardship of continuous labor against elements and uneven, angled terrain bound to trip you at any minute – or make you slip and possibly break a leg if leveraging anything heavy.

They never felt the insecurity of power failing – how close to the edge we were living, without backup resources or communication in a drafty, canted dwelling.

Oh, they warned us it could be challenging, and chastised me for not being able to do enough like they wanted – while blaming not enough rent collected to warrant their fixing the decaying shower.

And when they visited, they stayed in their nice, well built, insulated house perched above us, “snug as bugs in a rug’s” “lap of luxury,” claiming they were homesteading.

Learning to let go and relax when the funds are low and more are hidden from view with impending rent and many other bills due (including another moving truck, trailer, and car that needs repair to be towed in order to completely vacate the property properly) is like having a broken bone underneath muscles that keeps misalligning.