Who Let The Cows Out - Moo, Moo, Moo, Moo-Moo?

Just kidding - I'm pretty sure they are supposed to be there. I don't really have much interaction with the Bovine Brethren but from what I have been able to glean, they really aren't given to "wilding". In fact, I have become so accustomed to being the only house up on a hill that if I happen to see shadows moving, I wonder just what the hell is going on? It's always cows - who are rather more ninja-like than one might imagine.


The cows are moved around the farm from field to field (and they are scattered all about as it is - I don't know how they keep track) because...well, I'm sure there is a good reason - the grass is always greener in the other pasture? One can never really take the New York out of the New Yorker.


Generally cows only moo-ve into my perview when we are exercising the hounds. The hounds are just curious and want to sniff around and say "hi" and the cows, for the most part, would prefer that they not do that. One time, about 8 or so cows came running down to one of the gates we were about to open and cross as if to say "Yeah, no - we don't want to share any of this field today". When it became apparent to the cows that the hounds, horses and people were indeed going to be coming into their pasture - they literally looked at each other and in their very best Monty Python re-enactment, did the "Run Away! Run Away!" battle scene from Holy Grail.


Recently, Dee had to travel on business and so I was to lead the next three walkouts. I am getting a bit more confident and am often now able to make a sound come out of the horn that doesn't sound like a desperate cry for help from a living thing.


The first walkout, I had forgotten to ask where the horn was and couldn't find it in any of the usual places (it was, in fact, hung where it should be, I had just never noticed it there before) and had also forgotten to ask about "treats" so this session was done hornless & treatless (Dee doesn't always give them treats while we're out - but I figured since I was the substitute teacher that some canine graft & corruption in the form of small bone-shaped biscuits would've been helpful). 

We came to the last field and pond and since there were quite a few cows already at the pond, decided it might be best to just lead the hounds away from that pond. I then looked down the hill to see an ass-load (agricultural unit of measurement) of cows being led into the field. Jesus tap-dancing Christ! A quick consult with the riders and we decided that I would call the hounds behind me but rather than give the command to "go", I would just move slowly down the hill diagonally away from the incoming crowd with most of the riders keeping between the cows and hounds. It worked! The hounds followed my cart and moving as a unit everyone got to the bottom of the hill without any confusion or tears. 

I was well pleased with that maneuver (probably not as impressive to the veterans but I enjoyed it).


The second walkout was pretty stress free (but crazy hot) until the end. We got all of the hounds into the trailer to take them back up to the kennel except for Ice-T (I am not changing any of the animals' names until or unless I am advised they have lawyers on retainer). Normally behaved like a gentleman, Ice-T decided to channel his inner rapper and run back into the field. Dee truly loves every one of her creatures, great & small, from the horses down to the bees so I had NO intention of telling her we had lost one of her hounds, I yelled to the poor, exhausted, blazing hot riders "No one leaves until we get T back here!"

Oh dear, it's just occurred to me that technically I may have been holding a half dozen or so people hostage at that point. 

Well, what does one do when faced with a short, round woman of a certain age who is brandishing a whip and is covered in sweat, dust and pond scum, and currently has Bette Davis eyes - and not the good kind of which Kim Carnes sang either. I'm thinking more "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane" eyes or "Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte" peepers. Well, we finally got T back but by that point we could only get him into the cab of the truck. Have you ever tried to drive a truck with a trailer full of hounds behind you and a foxhound sitting on your lap?  Well, I have.


By the third walkout, the temperature had been steadily climbing every day and that alone could've caused the spontaneous combustion of any living thing but just as I pulled on the front door, not only was I hit by the heat but also by a smell that I could only think was one large dead thing (something in the Woolly Mammoth size range) OR a large amount of smaller dead things. Turns out it's fertilizer time. New York, in the height of summer, with the sanitation people on strike, isn't even in the same class of stink. 

Fortunately, with the exception of a continual wish for a gas mask, that walkout went well. Dee was returning that afternoon leaving me no time in which to find alternate living arrangements had it not.

Tomorrow we ride (I cart) at dawn (well, not dawn so much as 90 minutes earlier than usual) 'cause that heat isn't going anywhere anytime soon.  

Onward & sideways!

I'm Sorry, I Was Not Aware There Would Be Backing Up...

I had a very sheltered upbringing - on the Upper East Side of New York. I was very fortunate to have been afforded a most excellent education at The Convent of the Sacred Heart on 91st Street & Fifth Avenue. It was an unusual time to be growing up anyway - the times they were indeed a-changing.

The academic program was, and still is, of the highest order and though I don't know if such a thing even exists anymore, I vaguely remember a very tepid sort of Home Economics class (or club, maybe?) I just know that I didn't have to take it. The reason this course was not emphasized was that it was just presumed that a young lady of the Sacred Heart would have staff.

Another elective that was not offered (although I don't believe it was offered at either Spence or Nightingale - two other private girls schools in the immediate area) was driving. As New Yorkers, we mostly walked and/or were driven. Getting one's driving license just wasn't the milestone for us that it was for, you know, everyone else in the world. Or America at least. 

The first driving license I had was in the mid-1980's when I first lived on Anguilla (the northern most of the Leeward Islands). There we drove in "American" cars (steering wheel on the left) BUT as Anguilla is a British dependent territory (British West Indies) we drove on the left side of the road.


This is helpful nowhere.

The first American driving license was issued to me in the early 1990's in Montana when I was splitting my year between Missoula and Anguilla. I then spent the next decade driving on the right hand side of the road for half of the year and the left hand side for the other half.

Because of the impediments that came with driving on Anguilla - goats leaping into the middle of the road from out of nowhere, pot-holes that could swallow a small car and confused tourists trying to negotiate the roundabouts AND remember that they need to stay on the left hand side of the road, I have always been a very vigilant driver but because so many others are not, I am also a very anxious driver.

To be honest, it is not always the other driver, most of my life is anxiety driven.

I don't like driving on highways, don't like driving fast, not a fan of the windy road, get claustrophobic if I am surrounded by a lot of traffic, am now quite night-blind and still, to this day, when I am in a new place, I have to remember to drive on the right-hand side of the road until I get used to it.

Arkansas, it turns out, appears to be mostly winding two lane highways. I am now quite confident in making my way from home to our small town and its environs but it will still be a while before I can do the drive to Fayetteville. A) There is construction going on and those flashing lights and stripedy barrels only serve to confuse me (on top of the anxiety), 2) There is a LOT of traffic and C, D, E & F) I don't know where anything is.

Anyway, my friend Alex (also not his real name and coincidentally my friend Dee's older son (still not her name either)) is having some transportation issues just now and needs a lift to and from work. For the most part Dee takes him in the morning and I collect him in the afternoon. A couple of weeks ago I got a call asking if I might go for Alex in the truck as he had something large to bring home.

Holy crap - the White Rhino! The first time I'd seen Dee in over 30 years - she pulled up to the airport in this giant white truck, opened her door, slid out and then disappeared from sight for a few seconds before she came around the front of the truck. It's taken a while and I am now reasonably proficient at getting in and out of the passenger side with a modicum of dignity and a minimum of swearing but it is one big-ass truck.

I went up to Dee's house to swap my golf cart for the White Rhino and it had already been considerately parked in a manner that allowed me to just get in and drive. No having to reverse out and negotiate the parking area - just climb in and off I go. Well, the whole thing scared the crap out of me but it was time to suck it up and in the words of the philosopher, Nike, "Just do it!"

I would just briefly like to mention, as an aside, that if it is normal for your vehicle to have lights on that usually signify that something might be wrong, a heads-up could probably be helpful in the elimination of visions of the vehicle exploding before the completion of the task. There are almost no vehicles from this century on the compound so almost everything has its own eccentricities - as do many of the best people...

I pulled into the drive of Alex's job and he directed me to follow him around this building so he could load-in his stuff. Once the task was completed he said, "OK, just turn the truck around and I'll meet you over there" gesturing vaguely in the direction in which we had come.


Umm - what's that now? Just turn the truck around? Like, go backwards and then forward again? Well, it had never crossed my mind that I would have to turn this mother around - but then again, I reckoned that anything short of an actual building that might be behind me would not win in a confrontation with The White Rhino and so I wrestled that gear shift to R and then back over to D and we were outta there. 

Once I knew we were on our way back to the farm and that we would be in Drive for the rest of the trip I was able to enjoy the powerful feeling of driving a big old truck. I totally get it. Sitting eleventy feet above the ground and thinking: 

"I am The White Rhino - bow to me!"

My Kingdom for an Anchovy!

When I moved here, I was aware that the farm is in a pretty rural area.  This is one of the many things that I love.  My view is stunning in every direction and generally peace and quiet abide.  On a clear night, in the absence of ambient light, you can see almost every star ever discovered and practically read by the light of the full moon. When the moon is new however, finding your car can be a challenge as you walk, Harpo Marx-like, knees bent, taking tiny steps with hands gesturing frantically in front of you wishing you had bat sonar. 

The area in which I live is considered Northwestern Arkansas, abbreviated as NWA.  I cannot say how long it will be before images of Dr. Dre & Ice Cube stop popping into my mind every time I hear "NWA".

We are about 5 miles from town (pop. 2346) and about 30 miles from Town (where the University is located).  We have a lovely little downtown.  There is a traffic thingy that looks meant to be in the spirit of a roundabout but is really a rather confusing polygon of some sort.  There was some stunt driving involved during my first attempt at circumnavigating this 5th circle of Hell and I believe that poor Dee may have seen a lot of her life flashing before her eyes but admirably kept her calm and we tried it again.

We have a McDonald's, a Sonic & a Pizza Hut. About 100 feet from the Pizza Hut there is another little pizza place that is called, That Little Pizza Place.  Needless to say, this can lead to conversations of the "Who's on first?" variety.  

We have a Walmart (this is Arkansas, it's the law) and although I had really been a Target girl in the past, I am becoming quite fond of our Walmart.  Hey, on Mothers' Day morning I was able to get a wifi router and get connected again to the rest of America.  I just wish Pepperidge Farm double chocolate Milano cookies would stop falling into my basket.

Then we have our grocery store.  It is a chain store and I'd been to the one in "Town" before as it's on the way to/from the airport and that one is really nice. Ours is well, a bit less so. The people who work there are lovely, it's not that, it is the fact that either Mr. Magoo or Jackson Pollock is responsible for the layout of the store. There seems to be a little bit of everything on every aisle so the shopping experience is a cross between Concentration:

"Wait, I saw some of these things on another aisle.  Um three aisles over?" 

"No, I'm sorry, it was two aisles over.  And the board goes back." 

& Jeopardy: "I'll take Things Only I Know on Which Aisle They Reside for $400, Alex". 

If you pay close attention though there are little gems to be found.  There is a significant Mexican population here so there are bottles of Coke & Fanta from Mexico made with REAL sugar not the HFCS crap.  It means nothing to me, I've been on diet soda since 1963 but for someone who does enjoy "the real thing" - it is here.

Three different types of Panko bread crumbs - on three separate aisles. Who knew?

We're ass-deep (technical retail terminology) in Vidalia onions just now which seem to have elbowed the plain old regular yellow onions into obscurity.  I'm sure they'll be back though.

Early on, I decided to make a Caesar salad.  It's probably my favourite salad and as long as I have the required ingredients - I make a pretty good one.  Romaine lettuce - check, garlic, lemons, cracked black pepper, check, check, check.  Olive oil, Fresh eggs, Parmesan cheese & Worcestershire - got 'em.  Anchovies?  Anchovies?  Well, on the aisle that one might normally find anchovies, I found the usual suspects: tuna, clams (smoked & not), oysters (also smoked & not), sardines - a few different varieties.  Anchovy paste - sure, but nary a tin of anchovy fillets to be found.

I returned a couple of days later on a search and destroy mission.  I would be the Jacques Cousteau of supermarkets.  I would find those damn anchovies.

And so, with my shopping cart, temporarily christened "Calypso" and "The Best of Little Feat" playing on my iPod I began systematically going up and down every single aisle until finally, good news!  I spy a group of anchovy tins (a school of anchovy tins?) on the shelf.  And look, only $1 each?! Hey wait, what's the catch? Oh, well there ya go - they expired last December!

And this, ladies & gentlemen, is why I can't have nice things. What I will do is purchase plenty, plenty tins of anchovies the next time I find them. 

As God is my witness, I will never go without anchovies again!