IT’S ALWAYS SOMETHING

We hadn't been to the farm since March 27, the weather and our social schedules keeping us in town. It's well past time for us to begin to establish our "summer residence," so Saturday morning (May 8) Mike and I packed the Dakota with the Montmorency sour cherry tree, the supplies and "needfuls" we had gathered, and Nellie (of course)and headed out to the farm. As we traveled we listened to a Louis L'Amour audiotape, "Law of the Desert Born," and companionably anticipated the planting of our sincere little cherry tree. It felt really good to be going to the farm again.

At first sight of the farmyard from the old Plank place, we were relieved to see the tall pines in the grove still standing like sentries, having survived another winter. From that distance, the house and grounds looked good. But as we drove into the yard, Mike exclaimed, "Oh no! The horses are here again!" The yard was trampled and flower pots sitting on the porch had been pulled off and broken. Manure everywhere. Truly – it smelled like a barnyard. I'm not a forensic scientist but upon examination of the natural stuff, it looked as if the horses had been in residence some weeks, including that very day.

Of course we had to deal with the situation, but taking first things first, we decided to plant the cherry tree. You may recall that the cherry tree is Hallie's gift for our 35^th wedding anniversary. We chose a spot in the grove, back of the area designated as the orchard, and Mike dug a hole according to instructions – as deep as the root ball and twice as wide.

In the course of the planting, we provided plenty of water.

The tree seemed to perk up immediately it was in the ground, apparently sensing it was home. As the final step, Mike placed fencing around it that will hopefully provide some protection from the deer if not the horses.

After lunch we set about assessing the damage and righting the yard as much as we could. The horses' hooves made divots in the soft ground, and they had trampled all around the house and the woodshed – also behind (on the east side) of the barn. What we know is that soon the ground will harden like the clay it is and those divots will be permanent dents unless we do something to smooth the ground soon.

Mrs. Dobson's little girl Kathy was not raised to shovel manure, but shovel I did. I filled the composter with the stuff around the woodshed and as I worked I entertained myself with thoughts of all the beautiful dresses I have had in my life. "If only the ladies of the club could see me now," I thought. Then Mike helped me – or I helped him – and together we scooped more and established a secondary pile. Actually, the manure is the least of our worries – perhaps even a good thing for fortifying our gardens.

Sunday morning Mike made a trip to the canyon and took pictures of the defunct fence. The owner showed up about noon and said he would make repairs. As you can see from the pictures, the fence really needs to be replaced / renewed rather than repaired. The horses have just freely moved between the canyon and our property for so long that a little fence doesn't hold them. And why should the owner care if we aren't complaining? KW