How many portraits have you seen of Debbie sitting at that same chair? Sewing, quilting, talking, or laughing? Well, here is one of Jen. Like Debbie, Jen can sew, talk, and laugh. I am not so sure about quilting. I’ve never seen her do it, so the question remains unanswered. I am guessing that she can.
Well, Jen? Can you quilt? The fine folks reading this blog want to know.
There are days when I like a good challenge in a photograph. I like to look at a photo and try to figure out what the photographer was thinking and what they are trying to say to me with their work. If you are one of those viewers, then you are going to be disappointed today. I am not trying to say anything to you and you won’t find this image challenging at all.
It’s simply soothing in it’s simplicity. It is pretty and maybe nostalgic. Maybe simple images are a kind of pabulum. I am too tired and have too big of a migraine today to wrestle with those kinds of issues. So please, just sit and enjoy the image for what it was intended. Simple pleasure. Look at it and let your thoughts become lost in the wind.
It is, I suppose, my nature to imagine conversations between people that I can see, but can’t hear. And so…
Miss Susan: I want the musicians over here, near the hay. I also want the benches around the walls. You will also need to move the corn grinder out behind the barn.
Mr. Carr: Yes’m.
Miss Susan: And Mr. Carr, I hold you personally responsible to see that the fiddle player has no liquor tonight. I will not have him dancing a jig in his union suit as we did last month.
Mr. Carr: Yes’m!
Miss Susan: Not a single drop, Mr. Carr. If I smell any liquor on that man, you won’t see a single pie the rest of the summer.
Mr. Carr: But…
Miss Susan: Not a drop!
Mr. Carr: Yes’m.
The horses on the farm are massive Percheron draft horses. I am dwarfed by them and to be honest, I am a little nervous when I am standing right next to them. Not enough to run screaming in terror, but just enough to keep a healthy eye on them and to make sure they know I am there.
Explaining my own nervousness is to give you some understanding of why I am incredibly impressed by the farrier. He is out to the farm on a regular basis, ensuring that the horses are well shod and have healthy feet. He’s really not that much bigger than me, but he rules those massive horses. They obey him without question. Maybe it’s the routine or maybe his own skill with them is part of the reason they do what he wants. Either way, to see him in action is impressive.
To keep the horses still and to support their massive feet, they are led into a frame. The farrier works one hoof at a time and gives the horse plenty of time to rest in between. I enjoyed the entire afternoon of watching him in action. I’ve included some extra photos below so that you can see a little more of the farrier in action. And, as a bonus, you can see his dog AJ…and our farmer, Jim.
There are so many chickens running around the farm that it’s not difficult to capture one in a photo. Sometimes, like this one, I intentionally use them as part of the composition. Sometimes they just decide that they want to photobomb. The chickens and the people are the top two reasons that I love the farm.
In the silence…
The clock ticks on, without tiring, like the metronome to the tune of my life. Tick Tick Tick. A constant, dull beat.
I can hear the creak of my chair as I rock back and forth, sewing the button holes on my new dress.
An errant mouse scurries beneath the bed in the next room. Oblivious to the activity below, the cat sleeps quietly on the bed.
The kettle on the old wood stove steams away, letting me know the temperature of the oven by the sound of its whistling breath.
The house is quiet and in this moment, I can hear myself think. Good thoughts. Memories past and plans for the future.
The silence is good. It calms me and fortifies me for the day ahead. If I could, I would stay here…in this moment…in the silence.
She reads in silence.
Her lips don’t make a sound. However, occasionally they may move as her eyes leap across the page. Scanning. Looking for meaning in the words on the paper.
Understanding slowly creeping in as she reads further. These are after all, instructions. Yes, I said instructions. The lowest form of literature. Tricksters. Words whose only intent is to confuse and misdirect your thoughts under the guise of providing illumination and understanding. Vile words.
No words ever grew up with the dream of becoming instructions. Poetry, yes. Fiction, yes. Instructions, no.
It’s been a while since we last checked in on Lilly and Myrtle, so I stopped at the farm on Friday and visited them for a few minutes. They are both doing fine.
Myrtle is growing quickly and is now taller than the grass in the pasture. Still, she has plenty of young kid in her. When given the chance, she bolts and runs huge circles through the tall grass, though never too far from Lilly.
Have a great day folks.
Who knows whose nose grows through the rows?
Not I said the sheep.
Have a wonderful Wednesday folks.
Sometimes you have to get your heads together and solve your problems. Like, did you eat my share of the oats? You know I wasn’t finished, I was just getting a drink of water.
tim mcmurdo 