Take It Down a Notch

9/30/2015

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

Take It Down a Notch

            Comes now the time of long shadows. Sister Sun is slow to awaken, and I too find it tempting to lie later abed. She doesn’t have the energy to climb so high before taking herself off to sleep, so more of the world lies in shadow. For some of us who find the shortened days difficult, it would be easy adopt negativity, but we always have a choice about how to adjust our perspective

            The ancient elms in our yard cast shade clear across the driveway for most of the day now, and every hollow in the hills is darkened long into late morning. Even at noonday, there’s a softer cast to the light—everything seems to slow down and mellow out. The mood is catching. I’m somewhat disinclined to accept social invitations, more content with my own company, and reluctant to stay busy. Some part of me begins to believe that it’s just fine the way it is, and if not, then tomorrow will be plenty early enough to fix it. For a workaholic like me, that is huge progress.

Just as the leaves turn color and fall, and the critters put on winter coats and store up food, we are meant to prepare for change, and contemplate how to adapt. Sadly, we get that trained out of us pretty early. Our culture encourages the opposite. Organizations begin fund drives and plan conferences this time of year. Sports schedules get more crowded and hectic. We’re advised to plan a tailgate party and get our predictions in for next week’s game, not to mention supporting the home high school teams, whether or not we have youngsters involved.

This is way too early to worry about Halloween costumes or who to invite for Thanksgiving dinner, but we’re not supposed to say that. Christmas catalogs cram our mailboxes and store displays began going up right after school started.

At the risk of repetition, or seeming a Grinch, I have to say this.

STOP! SIT DOWN. LOOK. There’s incredible beauty all around. The air is crisp and fresh, afternoons are perfect for porch sitting, and evenings cry out for popcorn and board games with the family.

Don’t have a porch? Go sit on the neighbor’s then, and bring a cup of comfort to share. Have a visit, or just sit quietly together. Take a walk, pet a dog, watch a swarm of gnats, and breathe. You don’t have to succumb to the mad rush. You will, of course, eventually, and so will I, but we’ll have the memory of these contented and calm moments to sustain and warm us. Nothing lasts forever. Soon the contrasts of long shadows will be replaced with gray days when you can’t see a horizon, and there’s no differentiation between light and shadow. You’ll hunker down indoors then, probably with a box of Kleenex and some AlkaSeltzer Plus. But we don’t have to think about that now, any more than we have to plan the holiday meals. Get out there in the light, while it lasts. Take it down a notch, and mellow out.

Well, That Didn’t Work

9/23/2015

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

Well, That Didn’t Work

            My dad refused to have carpet in the house. Thought it inappropriate for a ranch. And to those who had carpet, and requested that family remove shoes indoors, he’d say, “So what if there’s barn stuff on the rug? What do you think paid for that carpet?”

            Regardless of her training, my mom put carpet in the living room after she was widowed, and I replaced that with more carpet when hers wore out. And no, we don’t remove shoes indoors. It’s just a house, and we intend to live in it. But Dad had a point. If the floors are bare it’s easier to see the sandburs that fall off your pants cuff, or get dropped when a dog pulls them out.

            There are other inventions that aren’t very sustainable for ranch life. One of those is sliding patio doors. It seemed like a good idea to put them in when Bruce added a deck to the century old house he was raised in. We do enjoy sitting out there on summer evenings to watch fireflies and listen to the coyotes and owls.

            He recalls that when he was growing up, the yard and adjacent area leading to outbuildings were mostly blow sand. It got better with his parents’ care, but there was still plenty of bare ground when we took over a dozen years ago, so we spread a lot of hay on sandy spots and watered diligently. It filled in nicely, and since the yard backs up to a lush hay meadow, we’re mostly immune to blow sand nowadays. Except in the grooves where the patio doors need to slide. Those need to be cleaned out on hands and knees, washed down, and lubricated regularly. And they still stick; still gather blow sand and particles of unnamed stuff that town dwellers never encounter.

            The screens need to be slid shut, especially if we leave, because one of our dogs has learned how to jump up and bump the latch on the glass door, to let herself inside. She also requests entry or exit by scratching at the door, so the screens are shredded, just at the time of year we need them most. Don’t suggest putting up a mesh shield on the lower part of the screen. We did that. She just reaches higher. After all, that’s where the latch is.

            Some of my friends have worn the same pair of summer sandals for years. I can barely get one season out of mine because they’re always damp from tripping around in wet grass to change sprinklers or feed the cats.

            Granted these are minor complaints in the grand scheme, and we who choose the perks of country life shouldn’t expect manufacturers to realize that something built for city use is often impractical elsewhere. But ignorance sometimes has a long arm that extends to the production of agricultural items.

            Decades ago, after years of putting up with tired iron, buying other rancher’s problems and scrimping to make payments on something that was obsolete when we purchased it, my husband went out on a limb and bought a brand new baler. For once, we vowed, this hay will get put up right. No more scouring junk yards for parts, late night trips halfway across the state to get something that turned out to be as worn as the item it was supposed to replace.

Haying went along pretty well for a few days. Then we pulled into the meadow that is always a problem. Rough ground there, some ditches to cross that aren’t always completely dry, a few swamps, and a lot of coarse grass. And the new baler plugged up every few yards. Stuff  broke that didn’t even have the paint worn off. We called repair men, who scratched their heads in frustration, or came up with a fix that wasn’t, but we never knew that till right after they drove out of the yard.

Finally they sent out a rep from the factory. By then, Bob knew what was needed to alleviate most of the trouble; a modification he could probably accomplish in our shop, with little additional expense. But surely the factory rep would know a better solution.

He took one look at the terrain we were in, and said, “This machine was never intended for such conditions. It works fine in a smooth alfalfa field.”

“All righty then,” my husband said. “What if I do thus and so, which will allow the hay to feed in smoothly?”

“Oh no,” said the expert. “Any modification will void your warranty.”

We modified it anyhow, put up the hay, and traded the beast off as soon as we could. But I don’t think there’s a modification like that for the patio door, and trading it off would be some kind of difficult. Maybe I’ll shop for new carpet instead.