Here comes the sun
...and the sunflowers and our sons
“Just living is not enough. One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.” —Hans Christian Andersen
Aaaaaah. Sun. Finally, we’ve received the warmth and bright blue skies we’ve been waiting for, at least for a few days here and there, far more than we received in June and July. The only indication that my freckly skin has seen summer is a slightly lighter shade when I remove my watchband.
The farmers are now scrambling for lost time. “This is the most rain I’ve seen in my entire life,” said Ted, a ninth-generation dairy farmer in his late 70s who lives up the road. He was concerned, like many farmers, that there wouldn’t be enough hay to feed the livestock this coming winter because the fields were too drenched to mow.
With the added rain has come mosquitoes, which seem to enjoy sucking my blood but not David’s, even though according to all the research they prefer his blood type (O negative), not mine (A positive), his high metabolism and enjoyment of beer. They evidently haven’t paid attention to the research.
The other result of all this humidity? Frizz. My normally straight, low-maintenance hair has taken on a life of its own. “When your hair is frizzing like that it’s seeking moisture,” said Olivia, the first person to cut my hair since moving to Vermont a year ago. My hair is clearly in need of an extra-large Slurpie or perhaps a quenching ocean breeze. Thank goodness for ponytails.
In addition to a proliferation of mosquitoes, we’ve been serenaded by a legion of crickets, some of whom have chosen to perform solos in hidden crevices of the house. A distant chorus of crickets is soothing, calming, relaxing…whereas a single cricket chirping indoors can drive you insane.
While visiting last week, Noah and his friend Alec searched (and searched) for a particularly operatic cricket because the previous night another one had kept Alec up. Turns out the ear-piercing pest was hiding beneath the kindling basket. Noah and Alec felt mighty proud of their successful hunt (and Alec slept soundly thereafter).
We haven’t needed to make a warming fire since early spring, but David has been working steadily to transform the pile of lumber in our yard into firewood. His chainsaw wasn’t working that well, so our dear neighbor Brenda, who just turned 74 in July, came over to cut the logs. David managed to split all the logs using Brenda’s pneumatic log splitter. I pitched in on the stacking, as did one of our guests whose grandfather had a mill (but hey, I had Lincoln Logs as a kid, so…).
In addition to his manly lumber work, David’s done a great job in the garden. We’ve picked a gazillion cherry tomatoes, along with potatoes, snap peas, peppers, sunflowers, lettuce, broccoli, and now, to our surprise, squash. All over the place. What’s most puzzling is that we never actually planted squash of any kind.
David discovered a fully grown and ripened butternut squash near the compost, and the garden itself is now overtaken with so many prickly vines, it looks like something out of a fairytale. We’re either going to get a pumpkin that turns into a stagecoach or (more likely) a whole bunch of mystery hybrids.
The only thing we can figure is that the folks who lived here before us had squash and we somehow dug them up OR perhaps there were some seeds in the aged (old cow poop) that was dropped off by our dairy farmer neighbors earlier this spring. Any other ideas? We’ll see what develops. We might end up having some varieties that look like they were straight out of a Dr. Seuss book.
In addition to squash season, it’s also corn season. Aside from the slow start due to the July floods, the corn has been amazing. I’ve gone several times to a market featuring veggies from Crossroad Farm, which keeps track of how much produce it’s sold this summer. So far they’ve sold 57,000 ears of corn, 6060 quarts of strawberries, 5700 heads of lettuce, 7070 pints of cherry tomatoes, 10,300 lbs. of tomatoes and more…just from this one farm!
We have lots of apples growing on the trees in our pasture across the road. They’re not quite ripe yet, but the cows love them. Adele, the Jersey mama, returned to the farm to give birth, so we now have Jeopardy, an Ayrshire (who is also pregnant) to keep Quantum company (the rest are now being shown at the Tunbridge Fair).
Jeopardy and Quantum have quickly learned to follow us to the apple trees, since they’ve already eaten the ones that grew within their reach. The experience of these massive prey animals trusting us enough to eat out of our hands feels magical somehow.
After Adele was brought back to the farm, Amber (the co-owner of the organic dairy farm down the road) asked if I was interested in seeing Adele’s calf be born. YES PLEASE I said. She ended up giving birth late at night, so I missed the big event, but Amber did let me know another cow was about to give birth within the hour.
I rushed over and was immediately greeted by Amber’s dogs, a trio of barn cats, and two hooves sticking out of the pregnant mama’s posterior. The pushing was slow going, so I asked how I could help while I waited. Amber handed me a large bottle filled with fresh, warm milk. “You can give this to the calf over there,” she said.
Shortly after the calf inhaled the milk (it took about a minute for her to down a quart), I saw something that looked like a tongue sticking out of the birth sack, but I couldn’t see the rest of the emerging head until minutes later. When the head emerged (atop two of the hooves), the whole process was very fast.
“It’s like Christmas every time,” said Amber, not knowing if it would be a heifer or a bull.
Turns out it was a bull. A beautiful one, but a bull. I could see a flash of disappointment in Amber’s eyes, though I know she was trying continue with business as usual.
Her father-in-law Ted walked in shortly thereafter. “What is it? A bull? Okay, back to work…”
Even though this bull would likely “go to auction” (euphemism for be taken somewhere to be used for food or…), Amber did place the newborn calf in front of his mama so she could bond and clean him. A kindness.
Before I left, Amber told me we’d be getting “all the spoiled girls” from the fair (on our pasture), meaning all the cows who’d been shown, groomed, pet, and indulged in preparation for their big day at the 2023 Tunbridge Fair. They will return to the farm before the first frost. We simply provide a place for them to roam freely (and give them grain in the morning for a daily treat).
The 151st Tunbridge World’s Fair was held this past weekend. Noah and Aidan were here earlier this month, but missed the event by a few days (again). David and I strolled around, visited the farm animals, including the cows we’d had on our pasture. I’d like to think they remembered us, but they didn’t give any indication we were familiar to them. Still, it was cool to see that several of the gals we knew were blue ribbon winners.
I happened upon a boy peacefully squeezed between his two cows. Pure trust.
Ambling around the fair was significantly better than last year, since David was with me this time. Plus, there were a few familiar faces, which made a positive difference. Still, I feel like a foreigner among these lifelong, close-knit farmers. I suppose I always will.
The Telluride at Dartmouth film festival began around the same time as the fair, so we went back and forth to see films, and the crowds couldn’t be more different, even though they were a half hour away from one another. Tunbridge is largely rural, home to 10th generation farmers, while Hanover is primarily associated with Dartmouth College, where 21% of students come from the top 1% of the income scale.
We went to see The Holdovers and Poor Things, both highly recommended. Bill Pence, a co-founder of the Telluride Film Festival and the former head of Dartmouth’s film program, created this mini film festival featuring six Telluride fall favorites. Pence died in December of 2022, though the Telluride at Dartmouth festival thankfully continues.
Since the beginning of June until just last week we had a constant stream of guests—25 thus far! Noah and Aidan came to stay in late August, along with Aidan’s girlfriend Mattie and Noah’s college pal roomate Alec.
Aidan and Mattie arrived first, after spending 15 days driving cross country, exploring various national parks, seeing friends and relatives. I’d gifted Mattie a stuffed moose after her first visit here last March (she’d really wanted to see a moose in Vermont). She named the moose Morton and took it with her on the cross-country trip. Aidan bought a bear he named Huckleberry while in Montana. Together, they featured in a number of scenic photographs.
When we went to pick up Noah at the airport, he was dressed almost identically to Aidan. Same length navy shorts, white t-shirts, tan Birkenstock sandals. And for once I had nothing to do with it!
While the boys were here, I asked if they would paint the mailbox, which was a drab gray with sad hardware store number stickers. Aidan painted sunflowers with cloud-shaped numbers on one side; Noah painted Izzie on the other. The postbox is much more cheerful now.
I am too, having had the boys here. They instantly make this place feel so much homier (is that a word?) whenever they’re here.
Aidan departed on September 8 for Paris. For the next ten months he’ll be working as an au pair for a family with two sons (and a Golden Retriever) before applying for grad school. He decided he wanted to learn French, and what better way than to immerse oneself? He’ll be in St. Germain-en-Laye, about 20 minutes outside Paris. We plan to visit as a family over the winter holidays. Recommendations welcome!
Noah headed back to his new digs in Silver Lake (i.e., “the Brooklyn of Los Angeles”). He’ll be living with three Berkeley friends, which should be fun.
We took Izzie to go swimming in the White River yesterday, a perfect day for wading. Two women were already sunning on the sandy bank when we arrived. One had just moved from Sacramento, California to attend the Vermont Law School, while the other was a longtime local determined to get a tan before the end of summer. One of her legs was covered with an array of doodle-style tattoos.
She told David that she’d traded housecleaning services for tattoos, but “that might’ve been a mistake.” The barter system here takes many shapes and forms. Brenda recently helped harvest (i.e., slaughter, pluck, and butcher) a bunch of chickens. She was paid in meat.
As a tattoo-free vegetarian, I’ll have to invent some alternative trade options. Perhaps freshly baked muffins or a basket filled with mystery squash?
Thanks again to everyone who has ventured out this way!
As always, I appreciate you reading and staying in touch,
Elisse
The crickets are chirping away here too signaling the end of a hot dry summer. I felt like I was right there ! reading along and experiencing your overflowing garden with mystery squash, mama cows 🐮 and their babies, the fair, the extremely pesky indoor cricket 🦗. David’s immunity to mosquitos 🦟?!? My friend and neighbor grew up in Vermont - I’ll ask her where. So glad your boys visited - I didn’t recognize them the photo ! They are so much older looking now. Paris is one of my favorite cities. I’ll send a note with must see places later. Thanks for sharing your experiences ! Hugs to both of you.
Thank you for taking us on your adventures...so much there: wild squash, apple-loving cows, sons and sunflowers and the sun, at last. Love this: "A distant chorus of crickets is soothing, calming, relaxing…whereas a single cricket chirping indoors can drive you insane." I know this all too well. We used to keep crickets to feed our lizard. Whenever one escaped, it went behind the refridgerator, chirping night and day, driving us insane as well.