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| Looking south over barren fields toward a smoke-filled Little Canyon |
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| Two bucks forage in the weeds |
Last
year (2015), I so enjoyed watching the fields ripen. They were so green in the
spring and then became whiter and whiter until they turned amber as harvest
time approached. This year, the fields weren’t planted in the spring and the
lack of growing activity was depressing. The only good thing about it was that
we were at liberty to hike across the fields. And naturally, there's no harvest here this year.
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| Seeding by day and by night |
But things have changed anyway. Farmer Kyle arrived last Thursday (August 4) and began
seeding next year’s crop, which is rape. (It's hard to say that word, but that's what they call that crop.) I don’t recall that rape has ever been grown
here, and I can hardly wait until next spring to watch the fluorescent fields
ripen. I look forward to new photo ops.
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| Mike is in the hammock |
The
operation was not without problems. First they lost a shank off the implement,
and they searched the fields until they found it. At 7:00 p.m., Kyle came to
the door and said he had a flat tire and had to go to Nezperce for a
replacement. Once the flat was fixed, he would begin to work again, he said.
Did we mind if he worked into the night? I said no, it wouldn’t bother us. (And
it didn’t.)
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| There! That looks much better. |
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| Fields are harrowed after seeding |
He
didn’t get started again until 8:30. Of course, it was dark and getting darker
by that time. I was fascinated as I watched that huge machine, outfitted with
big lights, crawl over the rolling fields of the south 80 in the dark. I do a
lot of thinking about how life has changed here over the years, and I feel
close to that history. When my grandfather started farming here 120 years ago,
they seeded by hand and it took a crew of men days to complete the work. The
workday began at daybreak and was over when the sun began to set. By the 1930s,
automation (if you can call it that) was beginning to impact the process and
cut the time. When my dad farmed here (1945-1965), the work still took days –
not so many days but days nevertheless – to go round and round the fields. He,
too, worked only in daylight. And today, here comes Farmer Kyle with his huge machine
outfitted with lights and works into the night. I heard him leave about
midnight, having completed the seeding on this farm in a matter of five or six
hours. I think that’s awe-inspiring.
And now that the fields are neatly worked, I feel so much better. I'm only sorry that brother Chuck wasn't here to see it. KW
Mike
made a day trip into Pittsburgh Landing on the Snake River today, but that’s
his story. I stayed behind with Bess and Nellie. I did laundry, and I put out
my Halloween display. No, it is not too early. Halloween is the basis of my fall decorating, and after Halloween it easily segues into Thanksgiving.
About
3:30, Nellie expressed interest in going out, so as I prepared for the
afternoon walk, I happened to glance out the dining room window to the north
field. There, very close to the yard, were two doe. I picked up the camera and
carefully went out on the porch. If they saw me, they didn’t let on. I
continued to watch and take pictures for a while. 
Bess
watched, too, from her perch on the kitchen porch. 
When the deer didn’t move, I walked toward the field just to see what would happen. I was beyond the driveway when one of the deer signaled (a kind of
trumpeting sound), and that’s when I discovered there were really four deer,
one of which was a buck. (What’s he doing with all those girls anyway?) They
all ran into the middle of the field and stopped in a group to look back at me.
We stared at each other for a long moment. Then one of the deer, probably the
buck, warned again, and shortly thereafter they turned tail and ran. 
Bess
lethargically refused to acknowledge that anything had happened. She’s bummed
because with Mike gone, she knows she won’t be hunting this afternoon. Don't think she didn't complain about it, too. Whine, whine, whine.
