Creek valley morning

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist 

I stepped outside. The sun was just coming up over the hill on the far side of the creek. A heavy dew covered the grass in the upper yard. It sparkled in the first few rays of sunshine.

It was a beautiful morning. The early air was chilly, and I was glad to have worn a think flannel shirt. After only a few steps, though, I wished that I had worn my rubber chore boots. My toes already felt damp, and I when I looked down, I could see that my leather boots were darkening with the dew.

I heard a loud clamor up on the hillside behind me. I turned and looked and could see nothing, but the sound of ruckus grew louder. The crows were cawing up a storm. Oh, how I wished I knew what they were exclaiming, and exclaiming they were. Their calls were in sequences of four distinct caws, the last one of which was longer. "Caw, caw, caw, caaaawww," they called. Then, there would be a pause before the sequence would start again. I called back, mimicking their sound.

I could hear several distinct voices up on the hill, but one bird in particular seemed to answer my caw. I called again, and for several minutes this bird and I spoke together. None of the other voices on the hill seemed to join in our conversation, but I had chores to do. The cattle lowed in the pasture down by the creek. I turned to go. I would get back to conversing with crows later.

The pasture critters and I have established a perfect routine. It could be rather complicated, for even though they can all eat a sweet feed fit for any and all stock, we think it's best to offer cattle feed to the cattle, sheep feed to the sheep, and horse feed to the horses. The only difficulty is that they would all like to eat everyone else's food, and due to the specific ingredients, this would not be safe, and so we’ve built two paddocks inside the pasture.

It warms my heart to walk down the hill and find the cattle standing beside their paddock gate. I quickly open it and let them through, closing it behind them before the horses or sheep can get through. I then head over to the other paddock, and with perseverance and a bit of bribery, I lure the horses inside, while holding back the sheep. This is often far easier said than done. 

Finally, with all the animals properly separated, I pour two scoops of cattle feed in the cattle trough, one scoop of horse feed at the base of their hay rack, and one scoop of sheep feed in the pasture hay rack.

Once the pasture critters are all happily munching away, I turn to my next pasture chore. With metal-tongued comb in hand, I enter the cattle paddock and begin to brush their shaggy coats. I've learned that I should brush them several times a week or their long highland hair becomes matted and tangled. I've also learned that it is best to brush them while they contentedly eat. They are docile creatures, but even a happy turn of their horned heads could be dangerous and is best avoided. There is no need to court disaster. So, while the cattle busily munch away, heads down, I comb their silky long hair, and we are all quite happy.

Once the highlands have lapped up the last pellet, I open their paddock gate and let them back out to the pasture. They saunter past me and head right to the water trough. They stick their mouths deep in the water and take a long swill. I can watch the water level drop as they drink.

I then let the horses out of their paddock and they head right over to the sheep feeder. The sheep never leave not a crumb behind, but the horses still need to check it out, every day. It is their ritual.

My last pasture chore is to stand beside the fence with the critters all lined up before me on the other side. I go down the line, tousling each head and giving each a treat. One little sheep holds back. She is more timid than her pasture mates, and I toss her a treat. She quickly picks it up off the ground. She knows I understand that she is shy and waits patiently for my toss.

I topped off the water trough with the hose from the frost-free spigot and turned to go up the hill to the cabin. My feet were now quite wet. I took off my boots and hung them to dry from their laces on the front porch railing. I sat back in my rocker. The crows were quiet. I called a few times, but here was no answer. Our conversation would have to continue some other day, but that is OK. Such is the creek valley way.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.