So yesterday I filled you in on what a typical day looks like here on the farm, but don’t think that is where the fun ends. Oh, no. Once that sun starts to sink back down over the hillside, the last rounds begin.
Folks, I have to tell you, I have yet to see an evening out here where that sunset sky isn’t absolutely breathtaking, so I personally make a point of stopping to take it in first thing when I step outside. It might seem silly to include that as an integral part of the routine, but really, that is why we are here so I don’t want to miss it.
Once I feel like I have satisfactorily taken in the magnificence what the good Lord took the time to set there before us, it is back out to our winged girls. As I mentioned, there are any number of critters who might see our girls as some fine “chicken tenders”, so one of the first orders of business here was to install something to give us peace of mind. We(mostly my husband) constructed our last coop from scratch and boy, was that labor intensive. Even worse when we had to tear it down when we moved. This time around we went with a coop kit if you will, from Amazon. It was exceptionally easy to put together, easy to move and most likely saved my husband’s sanity. I have no idea why we didn’t use this sooner. I suppose you live and you learn. Back to the point. I go out to the wonderful enclosure and make sure everyone is accounted for and closed in their boxes within the coop. Sleep tight, ladies.
Just beyond the poultry pasture, our fluffy cows are making their way back out to the pasture for the evening. We are just so head over heals for them, that we do in fact walk out there every evening to say goodnight. I know. That’s a little wacky, but we are living our dream here and I am completely unashamed. I am going to to say goodnight to my cows. Plus, I would like to think Charlotte has grown fond of receiving bedtime ear scratches. How could I let her down? Goodnight Charlotte. Goodnight Rosie. Maybe one of these nights, she’ll accept ear scratches too.
As I make my way back from the cow pasture and through the barn, I pick up the bag of cat food I carried out with me and give the wild collection of felines, their nightly vittles. They are here, they are hungry and the nights are getting colder. Until I get some word on someone coming to trap and treat them, I am at least being proactive in attempting to encourage them to live in the barn instead of under the house. Considering the structural repairs we will soon be attempting and the fact our dogs try to jet out and catch them every time the door opens, the barn seems like a much safer place for them to take up residence if they are going to be here. Good night you little wild things.
By this time, the sun has fully set and the horses are big, dark figures in the pasture as we walk by on our way back to the house. We stop to say goodnight to them and make sure their water is filled. My big boy, Smokey, comes over to the fence every night without fail, but I am not fooling myself. I know full well, he is simply an optimist, and maintains hope that the bag I am carrying might be for him. His pasture mate usually stays out, happily munching the choicest blades of grass, while he is preoccupied. Good night beautiful horses.
Now that we have checked each creature in our care, we walk down our tree line drive and make sure the gate to the property is closed for the evening; better safe than not.
By the time the night checks are complete and the sun has fully set, I too am ready to turn in. Having always been a morning person, I find it particularly difficult to continue functioning once the sun goes down. That doesn’t always mean I go to sleep, but I can’t lay claim to being coherent and useful after six o’clock, either. So as another farm day draws to a close, we make our way back into our ever improving home, stopping at the door long enough to hear the nearby coyotes starting their twilight chorus. Goodnight coyotes.