Bee Tree Farm

Today was just your average day. Rolled out of bed a little too late, fed dogs, walked past bed and contemplated crawling back in, dug through the closet for something only moderately wrinkled, ate cereal while reading People.com…er….The Economist, fell asleep behind wheel of car in traffic, sat behind computer for 8 hours while daydreaming about the weekend. Sound familiar? The only difference today was that it was going to end with a quick trip out to the land since Jer’s visit yesterday revealed a lack of cows. Of course, I have several questions about why exactly he didn’t, you know, try to find them, but I think it has something to do with a morbid fear of snakes that kept him from running around the place without me there to protect him. In which case, I’m flattered. Anyhow, it was that kind of day where you just really want to get to the end part. On the drive over, Jer called with good news and bad news, the good news being that he had driven to the land with a cooler of beer for a surprise happy hour. The bad news was that he was on the land and staring at Matilda, who was standing on the wrong side of the fence, staring back. And no, Seamus and Rooney were nowhere in sight.

It was at this point that I looked down at my heels and business clothes, grateful at least for the rubber boots I’d stuffed in my trunk, knowing that it was no longer going to be an average day.

I was greeted at the gate by a mournful Matilda who mooed for the first time, and a second, and third (fourth and fifth) time. She clearly was missing her smelly companions. Jeremy had already lured her back onto the property and reported no visibly broken fencing. I tossed some feed into a bucket and ran along the perimeter scanning the forest for two pudgy, fuzzy, tiny cows. As we neared a neighboring pasture Jer shrieked and pointed at two dots in the distance. Ten acres away and separated by a sturdy enough fence grazed our two missing cows completely oblivious to their surroundings.

After that, things get fuzzy. I vaguely recall being catapulted over a rusty barbed wire fence by an enthusiastic Jeremy, only to have my favorite pants catch on a barb and luckily slow my fall onto the other side. Then there was the careful approach to the cows with my bucket on the neighbor’s property, who I sincerely hope were watching. There’s a faint memory of then catapulting myself back over the fence, catching the pants again, yet not slowing my fall onto the other side, followed by a slobbering cow-turned-graceful-jumping-pony who easily sailed over the barbed wire. ONE DOWN! I righted myself, and quickly turned to lure Rooney back over, assuming that jumping was how he’d gotten there in the first place. Wrong. Oh my, was I ever wrong. Rooney made several attempts to get to me and my bucket of feed, but it only amounted to a few pathetic hops, a squeaky “mmoooewoooo,” a burp, and then cud chewing. Meanwhile Seamus, who had safely landed on the correct side of the fence, was butting his head against my thigh apparently attempting to annoy the crap out of me. It was at this point that I realized Jeremy had disappeared but had now returned and was jogging through the woods holding what appeared to be a towel and the flooring of my trunk. MacGyver in action! He breathlessly explained that he had “brought a towel and the floor of the Honda’s trunk to help get Rooney over the fence.” Sigh. Thinking on our toes is not either of our strong suits, and that’s all I’ll say about that. Rooney chose this moment to trot after a butterfly and Seamus followed him by running through…..a gaping hole in the fence that we completely missed – back onto the neighbor’s property. This story ends (yes, it DOES end) with a more successful attempt on my part to lure Rooney back onto our land with a creative army crawl/rolling maneuver through the hole whilst holding the precious feed bucket. Seamus sailed back over the fence. I’m not sure what we looked like heading out of the forest today – two people wearing a mixture of business clothes and farm clothes, dirt and rust on my face and bottom, Jeremy holding towels and a car’s flooring, two cows trotting happily behind.
But I do know one thing. We did have our hilltop happy hour around the hay ring, and the beer was delicious.