Sorry i haven't written in a while. things get pretty busy here on the farm. Roll call happens around 630am and the day doesn't usually end until around 830 or 9pm.
To catch everyone up. on march 1st, i packed about 95% of my belongings into my pt cruiser and headed to northwestern PA to begin a six month internship on a csa garden and goat farm.
After driving for about six hours, i arrived in Reynoldsville, PA. You should all know that this is the first time living so far away from home as an adult...by myself. I find my actions to be very brave...Anyway, it was dark, i was tired and all of a sudden lost! Well, okay, not really lost. My gps took me to a portion of road that was a raging stream. Not my gps' fault. Reynoldsville had just experienced a torrential downpour before i arrived.
Remember in my last note on germination? How I have a tendency to become a little dim witted when i'm anxious? Well, add tired to that and I turn into a downright idiot. As I stopped in front of the "road closed" sign marked with orange cones to prevent anyone from driving on the road, I thought "What have these barriers and warning signs have to do with me? I'm almost at my destination. I'm sure I'm considered 'local traffic', and therefore the road crew who set up the "road closed" sign and the orange cones did not intend all of this display of safety towards me? Road closed you say? Orange cones be damned. I continued on my way, down the dark, deserted, CLOSED road. Stopping about 100ft before the rapids that had washed out the bridge, I relied on being delusional as motivation to drive on. Just because there is a rapid of water washing out the road before me doesn't mean I can't cross it. I attempted my crossing by driving up on some guys lawn. "How high can the water be?" I wearily asked myself. Well, good thing the man who owned the grass came out to yell at me for being an idiot before literally driving off the deep end; luckily i didn't run over his well. Those of you who own wells know how low to the ground they are, and how bad it is for someone to run over them. For the rest of you, please refer back to previous sentence.
So after hightailing it off the road blocked off with orange cones and marked with a big sign that read "Road Closed", I attempted I relied once more on my GPS to take me in a different direction. It didn't. It took me on a road parallel to the one i just left. " Not to fear, I'll just take any road. How about this dark dirt road? This looks unpromising." Delirious and stupid, I ended up on a dead end road that was lined with Amish houses. Mothers and wives gathered to peak out their windows, no doubt shaking their bonnets and tsking the English.
After a few embarrassing phone conversations with my new and temporary roommates, i finally made it to my destination. I was greeted by two farmers, whom were probably wondering if they made the right decision by picking a girl who would drive down a closed road and attempt to cross a washed out road. Well anyway, that's what I was thinking. I was also greeted by two dogs: Bella and Wyatt, and a rooster named Whitey - the tragic hero of our story.
Whitey was one of three roosters who occupied the lower chicken house. He was also a rival to Nuroo, the rooster of the upper chicken house. From what i could gather, Nuroo is one hell of a rooster, and Whitely, well, not so much. Whitey's face and fleshy bits on his head and chin were badly cut and covered in blood when i arrived. Lucinda, the farmer's wife, was cleaning him up and separating him so his wounds could heal. After a few days, Whitey was as good as new, and out he went to join the flock, or brood or something.
Unfortunately, about a week later when i was opening up the lower house for the day, i noticed Whitey looking battered and bloody again. I sighed and continued to clean out the house and feed the chickens. Afterwards, I herded him back into the chicken house and proceeded to catch him...south paw aint got nothin on me. it didn't take me long when finally i was holding Whitey in my arms...seriously, Rocky can kiss my ass . i caught a rooster. so proud of myself. I thought, "now i can take him up to the house where he'll get all fixed up, and sent back down." Well, Looney Lucinda took one look at him, and said, "Whitey, i can't do this anymore." And just like that, Whitey's execution was set for Sunday. Yikes! Feeling responsible for Whitey's trip down the green mile, I still couldn't help but reminisce on how i caught a rooster. Yay me! Heart felt apologies to Whitey.
Sunday rolls around, and Looney starts to ready the kitchen to do the deed. She asks if i want to stay. Well of course I do. farm experience and all. The prisoner is brought in and the executioner proceeds to pull a knife from her butcher block sitting on her counter. "Odd" I thought. "She just pulled out any knife. i think i used that knife the other day to slice bread. As I recall, it was rather dull. But no. She wouldn't..."
Lucinda leans Whitey's head back over the sink to make the quick and fatal cut, and lo and behold, the knife is indeed dull. "What?! Not an important detail? Putt away dishes - important! Making sure you had a sharp knife, forgotten detail?! Really!?" i stood there horrified at the scene. In my head I was screaming"The blade is dull. The blade is fucking dull! Dull. It's dull. Why wouldn't you check that first?"
Lucinda of course is crying, but the tears are fake. How do I know this? Because she turns to me and says, "Stephen, her husband says if we don't cry when we do these sorts of things, then we might as well pack it up because we've lost our compassion."
"Compassion!? Are you kidding me!? How about you save your tears and next time show some compassion by using a sharper knife! "Oh death come sweetly?! Indeed not! Poor Whitey!"
"Are you okay?" Looney asks me.
"Fine!" I gritted through my teeth. It was the only thing I could say, because in my head I was screaming "The blade was dull! The blade was fucking dull? Important detail lady! IMPORTANT DETAIL! ya might wanna make a note of that next time, you stupid woman!" "i'm fine" i said again.
she starts to stoke the severed head of whitey's chin and turns to me saying, "it's amazing how the body calms down when i stroke the chin, even though the two are no longer connected." "don't you find that amazing?" lucinda asked me.
"again. the blade was fucking dull! it was dull! i find your stupidity to be amazing!"
okay. yeah sure, i drove down a closed road and attempted to cross out a washed out bridge. but seriously?! your tears are compassion? stroking the wattles to calm a headless and jerking body is a special thing? OPEN YOUR EYES TO THE ORANGE CONES AND THE BIG TRIANGULAR SIGN! THE BLADE WAS FUCKING DULL!
Tune in next time when I recall Fish Fridays and the single portion manna.
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