FARM NOTES: July 27, 2008

We have had quite a dry spell of Farm Notes/ nothing substantial since April because I have been either and yon, visiting family and meeting up with friends and foes at 50 year high school reunion in North West Tennessee. ( A small farming community, 50 miles from Mississippi River and Missouri, 15 miles from Kentucky and exactly ll3 miles from Grace land in Memphis, as the crow used to fly. ) Now that air fares are going up and it costs an additional $15.00 + per piece of luggage, I will probably never escape again for the rest of my life, so might as well dig into with farm notes. Please humor me as I try to catch up.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The Battle of the Equipment/ A Familiar Story at the Farm!

Even though the garden tractor and the little walk behind cultivator are also crippled, or actually dead, the lawn mower was the first piece of equipment to have my personal attention after I returned on July from two weeks, visiting family in the U.S. The yard was literally knee high, not knee high to a duck as my Dad used to say, but knee high to Ted, who is about 6/6 and the tallest of the human species who works on the farm. The Newfoundland Writers Guild was scheduled for their annual workshop on the farm, Sunday, July 20th. The tradition is for people to arrive anytime that is convenient, morning or afternoon, and find a quiet place indoors or outdoors to write. I invited them to a lunch of pesto made from farm goodies, Melba’s soup deluxe, a huge organic farm salad, showered with green onions, herbs and edible flowers, Mike’s home made bread, Helen’s tea buns and apricot cake. In the afternoon, we would find favourite spots again to write, and collect as a group for a potluck supper around 5:30. After supper, there is always an organized activity, in this case, led by Joan Scott, Chair of “The Guild” and Veggie Coop Member. Of course, this is not her only claim to fame. People, who wish, read and get feed-back to help them along their respective creative path. Over the thirty years I have been involved with the Guild, we have had the privilege to hear early passages from now quite well known novels. The most well known is probably Random Passage and Waiting For Time, by Bernice Morgan. .

I dedicated myself to the repair of the lawnmower, which, after many phone calls to various machinists, eventually took me to East Coast Marine/ East End of Water Street to get a part welded. On Wednesday, I gave myself about l/2 hr. to get to town and get the part dropped off. As it turned out, East Coast Marine is, guess where, the end of Water Street that is under construction and impassable from Hill of Chips, the normal route. I went down Temperance Street, trying to attract enough attention from the flag women to get them to ease back the barricades, so I could drive the box of parts to the East Coast Marine building. Finally, I walked the dusty, gravel road, with huge diggers clacking on both sides. It was around l:30, when I reached the desk of the person I had talked to on the phone. He, in turn, called the manager of the welding shop, who in turned called in the machinest who would actually do the work. He acknowledged he could do the work and have it ready by Friday, so I could get the yard mowed on Saturday. The first manager returned to give me the estimate. I made an Executive Decision to have the part fixed for the predicted cost of $100.00 plus HST when I couldn’t get in touch with Mike by phone. I ran out the door, to get to the bank for another farm errand and to pick up Toby, late in both instances. The flag woman ahead, motioned for me to drive forward, where I eventually connected to the asphalt lane, going up the hill to Duckworth, past Journey’s Inn.

Next came the saga of Friday. I called at 8:30 a.m. They would get to it after lunch and call me. I called around 3 o’clock/ they said they would call when it was ready. The call came at ten minutes to four. I told the man on the phone, I was on my way, to Please wait! My heart and head were ticking like a time bomb, as I got tangled up behind an asphalt machine and several different construction situations. I also kept rehearsing to myself, “What odds, if we don’t get the yard done. No big deal! We can cut a path from the house to the sitting places in the yard, with the whippy snippy” When I creped past the barricade at 4:35 p.m. I could see a man, standing outside the East Coast Marine Office, looking in my direction. I knew then, he was patiently waiting for me and thought, only in Newfoundland. He was quick and I was even quicker, driving much too fast around Winsor Lake, trying to get back. I knew Kenny had to leave the farm promptly at 5, to pick up his wife and daughter in “town.” I glanced at my watch as I handed him the part. It was 4:53 p.m. He examined the part and tried to put it into the intended slot on the mower. He looked at me and hesitated to report that the part was not machined quite right. He would have to file it to see if he could make it fit; this would take more time than he had. End of Story. Vince, one of our workers who lives on Bell Island, came in early on Saturday to clip paths from place for place for the writer folks, even though he had planned to attend a wedding in the afternoon. The members of the Writers’ Guild were quite happy to use the walking trails fashioned by Vince. A Good Time was had by all!