Curiousfarmer

Colors come when spring arrives,

Asparagus seed beneath the snow.

Violent thrust of rhubarb red,

Pushing up from down below.

Compost tea made with 27 things,

Full of promise, friable and loose.

Shall we put the compost on the grass in the spring?

No let’s wait a little longer so it’s not used up.

Shall we disc the compost into April oat fields?

No let’s wait a little longer so it’s not used up.

Shall we plow the compost into May corn fields?

No let’s wait a little longer so it’s not used up.

Let’s stir the compost, let’s examine the tea.

It’s stronger and smaller, but it still smells sweet.

Shall we fertilize fields after hay’s put up?

No let’s wait a little longer so it’s not used up.

Shall we spread on new seeding after straw is made?

No let’s wait a little longer so it’s not used up.

Shall we sprinkle on pastures before an August rain?

No let’s wait a little longer so it’s not used up.

Everything is brown and harvest is complete,

Let’s put it on the fields before the snow is deep.

O farmer, tight farmer, you have waited too long.

The compost shrunk and the compost is gone.

I ran the 2004 Chicago marathon.  My training was less than recommended and I had only worked up to a long run of 15 miles, so the last 11 miles were a challenge.  But I finished, and in the top half, so I was happy.

In 2005 I went back to watch the race and cheer on my cousin.  Watching the race unfold helped me formulate a theory why the Kenyans dominate all the big marathons.

October 9, 2005.  Chicago marathon, 13.1 mile mark, halfway.

We stood in the 2^nd level of a parking ramp across the street from the Sears tower.  We waited to see the lead runners.

As the mob of people along the race course thickened, anticipation grew.  It was an early morning-party atmosphere.  My kind of party.

Suddenly, a cheer!  Whistles, bells, shouts, “Here they come!”

“They” came rolling by.  The lead wheelchair racers finish in about an hour and a half.  They also get a head start.  So we waited some more and cheered on the slower wheelchair racers.

The lead pack of runners went by so quickly, I barely had time to study them.  There were ten in the pack.  They looked very comfortable running together, even at a speed of over twelve miles per hour.

I thought I saw two-time defending champion Evans Rutto in the middle of the pack.  I assumed the pack was all Kenyans.  I was right.

Fifty yards behind the lead pack a solitary runner struggled.  A few more yards back, another runner, then another, then two, then three.  They all seemed to be struggling to maintain the pace they had run in the first half of the race.  None of them looked like they could mount a challenge to the Kenyans.  I was right.

The runners behind the Kenyans seemed to be so alone.  Even if a few runners were grouped together, I could tell they were running alone.

In contrast, the Kenyans seemed to be running as one unit with interchangeable parts.  And in a sense they were.  And I think the Kenyans, with great humility, realize that. 

The Kenyans finished 1^st through 10^th, with only 5 minutes between them.  Evans Rutto, the two-time defending champion, finished 4^th, 26 seconds behind his countryman, Felix Limo.

How humble is Rutto to win Chicago twice, and then finish a few seconds behind his fellow countryman?  Is it coincidence the Kenyans train and race as a group and dominate the way they do?

Our monument to winter, before and after the blizzard of December 8-9 2009.  Why do I live here?

When my parents moved to their current farm in March of 1975, there was only a huge wood furnace in the basement which heated the house.  The winter had been so bad the previous farmer was unable to cut wood and had to buy coal to burn in the furnace.  Yes, in 1975 coal could be purchased.

The smoke and dust from the coal left a black soot on the walls of the house.  I wonder how many brain cells were lost by my sisters and I as we breathed in the soot.

My parents put in a furnace that burned propane that summer.  But they also burned wood that next winter because it was available and affordable on the farm.  They fell in love with the warm heat generated by wood and have burned it every winter since.

So Monday found my Dad, Uncle, and I pulling dead trees out of the forest to be cut up later as we need the wood or find time.  We always say we are going to cut all our wood for the winter in November.  But we never seem to get around to it, and frankly, harvest and taking care of the animals takes priority.

Two days later you can see why autumn is a hurried time as harvest is over and survival mode is in effect.  I’ve been gorging on carbs like a black bear getting ready to hibernate.  Somebody send me a ticket to someplace warm.